


there was always warmth between us

by higgsbosonblues



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2017 season, Exploring Sexuality, First Kiss, First Time, I hope, Lots of UST, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Sexual Tension, but now it's somehow not, this one has character development!, this was only meant to be a porny one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-07 19:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/higgsbosonblues/pseuds/higgsbosonblues
Summary: Set (quite vaguely) during the 2017 season. Max buys a dildo, and Dan finds it. And then they don't talk about it for ages.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so. This was meant to just be a happy little PWP and then I fell into the rabbit hole of YouTube videos featuring these two adorable idiots, and I wanted to write more of their dialogue, and somehow it grew legs and now it's 7,000 words and counting. I don't know how! I'm not sure how long it'll be eventually but there's probably another few chapters to come.
> 
> A lot of the references in here are from said videos and interviews. I've fudged timelines pretty heavily to fit narrative purposes, but it follows the vague shape of the season. I've also guessed the locations of some references, so apologies if I've totally cocked that up.
> 
> Title is from Side Walk When She Walks by Alexisonfire, because I happen to side with Dan on this one.
> 
> Comments/kudos are always lovely.

The advantage of a private jet, Max has always assumed, is that you can make it wait for you. He’s pretty sure that’s how rap songs make it sound. Hell, it’s how _Lewis_ makes it sound. And yet here they are, running hopelessly late, his PA jogging nervously on the spot by the doorway and checking the time on her phone every ten seconds as though that’s going to help anything.

“Look,” Max says to her eventually, exasperated. “Why don't you go and get the car and bring it round, and we’ll be out in a minute?”

Estelle dithers, chewing at the end of her plait. Max feels a stab of guilt. It isn't his fault, exactly, that he’s so late. He just hasn't quite got round to finding which of the three overnight bags - all of which are outfitted with more pockets than seem strictly necessary - he has put his passport into.

“Go,” he tells her, digging into the pocket of his jeans for the keys to the hire car and tossing them over.

“I don't even think I'm insured on your car,” shegrumbles, but catches the keys expertly.

“I think my no-claims discount is shot for this year anyway,” Max says wearily. “Just try not to drive into anything.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” she says over her shoulder, grinning mischievously at him. Max flips her off as he continues rooting through his hold-all with the other hand and she disappears down the corridor, her laughter following her.

Max swears under his breath, removing his Red Bull cap to scrub his hand through his hair in frustration. Why did he even bring half of this shit, anyway?He lives in his sponsor gear at the circuit. Why did he think he'd need a dress shirt?

“What the hell’s taking you so long?” Dan pokes his head around the doorframe. He looks, as usual, infuriatingly at ease. He's eating an apple, sucking the sticky juice off his fingers while he watches Max scrabble about in his bags.

“I lost my passport,” Max says. “And apparently they don't let you leave the country without it.”

“Yeah, I heard that,” Dan agrees solemnly, managing to keep the straight face for approximately half a second before breaking into his usual wide grin. “Shit, man. When you say lost it, like _lost it_ lost it? Or you just can't remember which pocket you left it in lost it?”

“I'm pretty sure it's in one of these bags somewhere,” Max says, gesturing helplessly at the pile of luggage between them. “I'm just not sure where.”

Dan clucks his tongue thoughtfully, coming into the room and stepping carefully over the bag. He finishes the last bite of his apple and aims it over the top of Max’s head at the wastepaper bin, whooping when it clatters in. Max scowls at him. He crouches down and prods at the bag closest to him with one finger, looking doubtful. “What have you even got in here?”

Max sighs heavily. “I don't know! Stuff. Clothes and stuff.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Well, maybe this’ll teach you not to be such a fashion plate. I don't think I've seen you in anything but those shorts this weekend anyhow.”

“You're not being helpful,” Max says. “You know that, right?”

Dan laughs and nudges Max with one elbow. “Look, there's a simple way of doing this,” he says easily. Before Max can say anything or stop him, he reaches out and picks up Max’s hold-all by one corner and tips it upside down, emptying out its contents in a messy cascade of crumpled clothes, chargers and - oh. Oh God.

Max lunges at Dan, grabbing him round the wrist in a desperate attempt to stop him, but it's too late. Dan is already looking into the pile of clutter, searching for something that looks like it could be a passport, and Max sees his face change, eyes getting comically wide, when he recognises the small black object lying amongst the dirty clothes.

Max closes his eyes, praying that the ground will swallow him up. “For fuck’s sake, Dan,” he snaps, embarrassment turning into rage.

“What’s _that_?” Dan says, leaning in for a better look. Max wonders briefly whether he had in fact fallen asleep earlier and this is all a nightmare. Please, please, he thinks, let this all be a horrible dream and I'll wake up in the motorhome with my passport on the desk where I thought I'd left it in the first place.

“Dude. Is that a… is that a _dildo_?”

Max shakes his head in a futile denial. “Dan, I swear to God I will kill you.”

Dan is looking from the dildo to Max and back again, his features working. He looks torn between laughter and horror. Max has gone straight for horror. Dan visibly composes himself before he speaks. “Why do you have a dildo in your bag?”

Now it's Max’s turn to stare. “Seriously?” he says. “Why do you think?”

“I thought it might have been a joke, like Jake put it in there or…” Dan actually gasps, cheeks turning pink as understanding dawns. “Oh, you. Oh. You use that on…yourself?”

Max covers his eyes with one hand. He's blushing so much he can feel the heat radiating from his own cheeks. “Dan. I'm not having this conversation with you. This is not happening.”

He looks at Dan from between his fingers. Dan is staring at him with open curiosity and something like awe, his eyes wide. He opens his mouth to say something, then forgets it as his attention is caught by something else.

“Hey,” he says, leaning over to fish something out of the pile. He holds up a burgundy square with gilt writing that catches the light from the desk lamp: _Europese unie koninkrijk der Nederlanden paspoort._ “Here it is.”

 

*

 

Max is going to have to kill him. Or himself. Actually, no - first Dan, then himself. It's the only way.

“So, like,” Danny says, propping his chin on his fist and glancing over at him as he flicks through the movie selection onboard the jet without really concentrating. “Is this like a gay thing, or…?”

“Shut up,” Max says flatly, cracking open a can of tonic water.

“I don't mind if it is. I'm a modern gent.”

“I'm not talking about my - I’m not discussing this with you. Especially not in public.”

“We’re not in public,” Dan says. “This is a _private_ jet. The clue is in the name.”

“It's public enough,” Max hisses. “Shut up.”

Dan smirks, ripping open a bag of jerky and offering them to Max. Max considers refusing out of sheer principle but they smell delicious, so after a moment he takes a stick and bites the end off sulkily. “Come on, Max,” Dan cajoles, voice full of glee. “Help me broaden my horizons! Maybe this is something I've been missing out all my life.”

“Oh my god,” Max says through his mouthful. “Please stop talking.”

“I'm curious!” Dan says. His grin widens even further. “Does it not affect the racing? Like, don't you get, uh, tender?”

Max chucks a neck pillow at him. “What is _wrong_ with you? Stop talking!”

Dan just cracks up and puts his headphones on, the bastard.

 

*

 

The thing is that Max had only bought the damn thing a few weeks ago, and he _knew_ it was stupid to pack it, but what can he say? He's 19 and perpetually horny, and it's not like he can just go to a club and pick up some random guy to experiment with like most people his age. Not unless he wants it splashed all over the tabloids, anyway. This had felt like the safest option. He doesn't think he can be blamed for his ridiculous teammate’s utter disregard for personal boundaries.

He's actually not sure whether he even _wants_ to experiment with a guy. He's mostly always been into girls, and he doesn't see that changing any time soon. Boobs are great. He's just…curious. And what had started off as fumbling exploration with spit-wet fingers, copying things he had seen in porn, had gradually become more and more intense until finally his fingers hadn't been enough and he'd found himself on a sex toy website in the middle of the night, furtively buying something labelled as “perfect for beginners” and a bottle of lube with shaking hands, entering a false name on the delivery section just in case.

It had arrived a few days later in a padded, unmarked envelope, for which he was infinitely grateful. The first time he had tried it out, he hadn't even managed to get it in past the tip before panicking and giving up. Even though it looked pretty small in his hands, trying to get it inside himself had been another story altogether and eventually the pain and strange sensations had overridden any kind of horniness he'd originally felt. Dispirited, he had rinsed it off under the bathroom sink and shoved the whole lot unceremoniously under his bed. But it had played on his mind, and he found himself taking it out again a few days later, running his fingers over the smooth surface, imagining it sliding inside him, the stretch and ache, his cock swelling in his pants just thinking about it.

The second time, he'd been determined, and locked himself in his bedroom for an hour with PornHub, slowly working himself open with his fingers and then pressing the toy inside bit by bit until its flared based sat flush against the skin of his arse. He'd been coated with sweat by that point, not exactly turned on but thrilled with himself, a strange sense of achievement sweetening the slight pain. Eventually he began to move it inside himself, working up to the point where he could grasp the base and, however clumsily, fuck himself with the curved black plastic shaft. His orgasm had been different, seeming to come from deeper inside himself, a slow spiral that began between his legs and spread up his spine, less intense but somehow more satisfying. He liked the sensation of being filled.

After that, he was addicted. He didn't use it every time he jerked off; he was a 19-year-old guy, he jerked off a lot. Sometimes it was easier to just lock himself in the bathroom for five minutes with some tissue and a bottle of hand lotion. But whenever he got some spare time, a night at home, sooner or later he would bring it out.

Then he started bringing it with him when he travelled. It was fine, he told himself: it didn't vibrate so it wouldn't set off any kind of security scanner, and he spent so many nights alone, bored and frustrated in hotel rooms and motor homes. It relaxed him, a funny way to treat himself on race weekends when he had to be so strict with his diet and sleep. Why not bring it?

The previous night, in his hotel room, he had slid it inside himself on the plush double bed, his black briefs pushed to one side but still covering his cock, the fabric stretched and tented over his erection. He had kneeled up, a pillow bunched between his legs with a t-shirt thrown over it to guard against awkward stains, thrusting the dildo in to its hilt and rocking his hips so his covered cock ground against the pillow, face pressed into his forearm to hide his gasps. It hadn't taken him more than a few minutes to come, soaking his briefs, thighs trembling at the intensity. He thought of faceless men, disconnected muscled torsos and thick thighs, slim hips rolling against his.

He thinks about it for a moment on the plane, glancing over at Dan who has fallen asleep, lips slightly parted. Max remembers the burn in his arse, the feeling of being filled, the orgasm that made his thighs cramp and toes curl. Next to him, Dan murmurs in his sleep.

It doesn't really mean anything, he thinks. Dan will get bored of the ribbing eventually, and Max trusts him not to say anything to anyone he shouldn't. He just won't mention it again.

 

*

 

“Want a lift back home?” Dan asks as the plane taxis down the runway at Nice. “I've got the DB9 parked at the airport.”

Max rolls his eyes. “Seriously? How much are you gonna have to pay in parking fees?”

Dan throws him an amused glance. “Are you kidding? It's going straight on my expenses. I'm seeing how far I can push it before Christian tells me to get fucked.”

Max considers. He'd been planning on getting a company car to pick him up so he could nap in the back, the jet lag kicking in already on the plane ride. Maybe Dan had the right idea by sleeping through it. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Thanks.”

Dan pats him on the shoulder as the seatbelt lights click off, and he gets up to fetch his overnight bag. Before Max can stand, he leans over to open Max’s overhead bin, too, pulling out his hold-all and dumping it onto Max’s lap. He gives the bag a significant look and quirks an eyebrow. “Don't wanna forget this one,” he says meaningfully, and Max groans, shakes his head.

“I hate you,” his says, but then he looks up and makes eye contact with Dan, and stops short. The look on Dan’s face isn't the teasing grin he'd expected to see: his expression is open, hungry, eyes darkened. Max feels his face heat up immediately. Dan has never been much for prevaricating, and his emotions are written all over his face. It's not the kind of expression you wear when you're teasing your friend. God knows they've spent enough time over the past year ribbing each other about their pit lane bromance. This is something else entirely. Max stares up at Dan, his skin breaking out in prickling goosebumps beneath his hoodie. He's never been much for reading minds, but right now he'd be willing to bet a five-place grid penalty at the next race that Dan is imagining him using the toy on himself.

Max swallows, caught in Dan’s heated gaze. His mind has gone blank.

“Come on, then,” he says lamely, and immediately hates himself. Dan, though, seems to come back to himself, his face switching in a split second back to his customary grin. He turns and saunters off down the aisle, his own bag slung jauntily over his shoulder, leaving Max to wonder whether he'd imagined the whole thing.

 

*

 

Dan insists on playing his shitty screamo music in the car on the drive back. Max groans and paws at the controls, but Dan slaps his hand away.

“No way,” he says. “Driver’s choice.”

“But it's _terrible_ ,” Max says, shifting back in the luxurious bucket seat so he can prop his knees against the dashboard. Dan brakes at a red light, slapping his thighs in time with the machine-gun drums.

“How dare you,” Dan says, giving him a glance of mock outrage. “This is one of the finest albums of the early noughties.”

Max prods at the touchscreen until he gets to the album information. It's Alexisonfire, who he knows are one of Dan’s favourite bands, so he begrudgingly holds his tongue on any more insults. “I was six when this album came out,” he says cheerfully instead.

Dan shakes his head, still tapping out the rhythm with his fingers around the heavy steering wheel, his attention focused on the traffic lights. “Don't,” he says. “I feel like a cradle snatcher when you tell me shit like that.”

Max snorts. “Cradle snatcher? What the fuck is that?”

Dan laughs, a short high sound that automatically makes a Max smile even though he doesn't get the joke. “Oh, dude. It's a term for, like…” He breaks off and cackles again, and when Max glances over at him he sees Dan’s cheeks have coloured. “Like, dating someone younger. You know, like you've snatched them from the cradle.”

“Like a paedophile?” Max asks incredulously.

“No!” Dan says. “Just younger. Like you’re younger than me but it's still not, you know, gross.”

“Oh, so we're dating now?” Max says, bemused. “When did that happen?”

 _“No,”_ Dan says, sounding flustered and also very much like he wishes he'd never started on this conversation. Max covers his grin by turning to look out of the window.

The lights switch to green and Dan accelerates smoothly away. The engine of the Aston Martin roars beneath them, giving Max a pleasurable little shiver. “This is such a sexy car,” he says to change the subject.

Dan laughs, pulling his sunglasses from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose against the low setting sun. “Totally. Ideally there should be some sort of Brazilian lingerie model in the passenger seat for the full effect, not some scrawny Dutch kid.”

“I'm not scrawny,” Max says, hurt.

Dan looks over at him as he changes gears, eyes hidden behind his mirrored shades. “No,” he says, and Max can't read his tone. “I guess not.”

The mood shifts again, Dan’s comments hanging heavy in the air. Max fights the urge tofidget. “I think Brazilian lingerie models are more Alonso’s department,” he says to cover his discomfort. “The rest of us mere mortals will have to settle for what we can get.”

“I think Fernando’s girlfriend is Italian,” Dan says. “But I take your point.” He sighs theatrically. “Maybe when I've got a championship or two under my belt.”

“‘When’,” Max says, doing the sarcastic air quotes, and Dan just grins, flexing his wrists, his long fingers curled around the butter-soft leather of the steering wheel, and doesn't bother replying.

 

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they talk about it a little bit, and drink quite a lot more, but it doesn’t really solve anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much UST, guys.
> 
> I’d like to thank the 2017 ‘on the sofa’ video, both for teaching me that Dan and Max live in the same apartment block in Monaco, but especially for the bit where they’re discussing Dan’s birthday in Saint Tropez and get EXTREMELY flustered. 
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and kudos so far, it’s made my week <3

The joy of the European season is that he actually gets to spend some time in his own flat for once. The flyaways at the beginning of the season are exciting, sure, and some of his favourite races - although perhaps he won't extend them that honour this year, given how badly his season seems to be going - but he can't deny that he gets sick of the constant jet lag and trying to sleep in the cramped quarters of the motorhome. During his first few years of international racing, he hadn't cared where he slept as long as he got to sit in a car and make it go fast, and when he'd been living at home he'd sometimes been guiltily relieved of the time away from the fraught atmosphere around his dad. Now that the initial novelty has worn off, though, and he's old enough to have his own flat, he relishes the time spent there.

He's got a full day off, a rare luxury during the race season. He's meeting friends that evening, but he has no plans during the day. He's folded out the sofa bed and piled it with blankets to create a nice little nest, a bottle of Coke (diet, because his cheat day only goes so far) and a tube of Pringles (because he's feeling virtuous about the Diet Coke) within arm’s reach and FIFA 17 on the PlayStation.

He's pretty sure he's in heaven, and then the entry phone buzzer goes. Max cranes his head to glare at it and decides he's going to ignore it. His friends know to ring ahead before they come over, the likelihood of him actually being in the flat generally pretty slim anyway. It's probably the post; the concierge will sort it if it's anything important. He unpauses his game and jams another stack of Pringles in his mouth.

A couple of minutes later, there's a knock on his front door. Max sighs heavily and pauses the game again. Either the front desk security has gotten severely lax and started allowing fans up - which he fervently hopes is not the case - or it’s someone who already has access to the building. Like, say, someone who lives a few floors up.

Max groans, trying to chew his mouthful of crisps and disentangle himself from his blanket pile. There's another knock at the door. Max gestures at it in frustration, making a muffled sound that's meant to be _hold on I'm coming_. He manages to swallow his mouthful, hopping to shake a blanket off his socked foot and trying not to launch himself into the TV while he does it.

By the time he gets to the door, Dan is drumming on it with his knuckles in a rapid waltz rhythm. Max wrenches the door open quickly enough that Dan doesn't have time to react and ends up standing with his fists raised lamely.

“Hi!” he says, as though Max has been expecting him or wants him there in any way.

“Dan,” Max says patiently, “Why are you here? We've seen each other every day for the past week.”

“I know, but I’m bored.”

Max heaves a sigh. “Do you not have friends?”

Dan matches his sigh. “They're all busy. They have these weird things called day jobs. Do you want to watch a film?”

Max points to the lounge. “I'm playing FIFA. If you promise to be quiet I'll let you play multiplayer.”

Dan draws his pinched finger and thumb across his closed mouth to signify a zip, then holds up a carrier bag. “I brought beers,” he says.

Max checks his watch. “It's three o'clock in the afternoon.”

Dan shrugs. “It's happy hour somewhere, right? Anyway, it's only a six-pack. Even you can't get that sloshed off three beers.”

Max pads through to the kitchen and fishes a bottle opener out of the drawer. By the time he gets back into the lounge, Dan has made himself supremely comfortable inside the blanket nest.

“Move up,” Max says, kicking at Dan’s outstretched legs.

“It's warm here,” Dan says, wriggling blissfully further into the pile. “So warm and so soft.”

Max takes two beers out of the bag, prises off the caps and places them on the coffee table out of kicking range. He takes the rest through to the kitchen and lines them up in the door of the fridge. Then he lines himself up in the doorway, gauging his angle carefully and waiting until Dan is distracted by trying to get the second controller to connect, and legs it through the lounge and hurls himself at Dan.

“Powerbomb!” he yells as he lands shoulder-first on Dan, who makes a feeble _oof_ as the air is forced from his lungs. If Dan is going to act like a child, Max reasons, he's got eight years’ worth of juvenility on him.

Dan struggles beneath him and Max rolls sideways, taking advantage of his weakened state to shove him over and reclaim some of the blankets for himself.

“That's not a powerbomb,” Dan says when he's recovered his breath. His hand is resting on Max’s thigh, a comfortable weight. “A powerbomb is when you get someone in a headscissor and you -”

“Shut up,” Max says, tugging the controller out of Dan’s other hand to get it connected. “You're mistaking me for someone who cares.”

Dan tuts loudly. “Don't use the terminology if you're not gonna learn the correct definitions!”

Max stares in disgust. “You are such a nerd.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, unconcerned. “But, like, a sexy nerd.”

“No,” Max says, reaching over Dan’s leg to grab his beer. “Not a sexy nerd. Just a nerd.”

Dan jiggles his leg to jostle Max, nearly making him spill his beer. “Sexy nerd.”

Max wipes a splash of beer off the neck of his bottle and flicks it at Dan’s face. “Shut up and press play.”

His thigh feels a little bit cold when Dan moves his hand to take the controller back.

 

*

 

He's not drunk, not after three beers, but he's pleasantly tipsy, a nice warm fuzziness around the edges of his brain. He's also much, much better at FIFA than Dan is, but that's to be expected.

Dan stifles a burp. “I'm bored of FIFA.”

“Only because you're shit at it,” Max says, but reluctantly exits the game and puts Netflix on instead.

“Find something good to watch,” Dan says, patting Max’s leg. “I need to pee.”

Max scrolls about aimlessly for a while, settling on the second Anchorman film while he tries to ignore the noise of Dan peeing echoing around the flat. He drains the last of his beer and wriggles into a more comfortable spot that Dan had been blocking with his thigh.

“So,” Dan says as he drops back onto the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Max looks over at him, surprised to see that Dan’s cheeks are a little bit pink. “I had a dream about you last night.”

Max splutters. “A dream? You mean like a sex dream?”

He's half-joking, expecting Dan to elbow him and call him a pervert, but to his shock Dan blushes even more, keeping his eyes firmly on the television screen. “Not exactly,” he says, and Max raises his eyebrows. He wants to laugh but Dan doesn't look like he's joking. Is Dan drunk? How drunk could he get on three beers?

“I mean, uh. I wasn't there, you were…” Dan clears his throat, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “You were on your own. With your, um.”

Max feels his own face heat up as the implication of Dan’s stuttering hits him. He thinks back to the look Dan had given him on the plane, the intensity of feeling Max had seen just below the surface, the dark heat in his eyes.

Dan laughs, but it's strangled and awkward. Max can't tell which of them is blushing harder. “Pretty weird, huh?” Dan says, trying for lightness and failing.

“Yeah,” Max says weakly. An image pops into his head, unbidden, of Dan waking up in the middle of the night, hard and gasping, boxers straining over his erection. He shakes his head to try to dispel it. For fuck’s sake. This season is proving frustrating enough without accidentally thinking about his teammate naked.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles, picking at his cuticles.

Max breathes in deeply. “I guess you can’t help it,” he says. “Given that I’m so damn sexy.”

Dan flicks a look at him out of the corner of his eye, relief clear on his face. “Right,” he says, clearly happy to let Max play it off as a joke. “Definite seven. Maybe even a seven point five if you ever bothered to brush your hair.”

Max snorts at that. He’s pretty sure Dan doesn’t even own a hairbrush.

There’s a momentary silence, during which Dan picks at the label of his empty beer bottle. Max is about to tell him that that’s a sign of sexual frustration, but then thinks better of it. He’s not used to having to bite his tongue around Dan.

“This movie sucks,” Dan says after a minute, and Max nods in agreement, but somehow they end up watching the entire thing, not speaking, Max fiddling with the strings of his hoodie to give his hands something to do.

 

*

 

A couple of days later, while they’re filming a video to go on Red Bull’s Facebook page, Dan puts his hand on Max’s knee. It’s boiling hot out and Max feels like he’s about to melt into the pavement, and Dan’s hands are wet with sweat, even hotter than the soupy air where his palm rests on the curve of Max’s knee.

“Oh, I love it,” Max says, deadpan. “I love it. Nice and sweaty. It's so good.”

Dan cackles and lifts his damp hand to the camera, and Max creases with laughter.

A patch of heat remains as if imprinted into the skin of his leg for the rest of the broadcast, and Max tries to ignore it, the phantom press of Dan’s hand against him. Once they’re finished, he hops down from the wall fast, says he’s sweaty and gross and has to go shower, and runs the water as cold as he can stand while he shivers beneath it.

He watches the footage back a few days later in his bunk in the motor home, curtains drawn around himself, the glow of his phone screen making him screw up his eyes. He notices the way the hair on his own thigh glints golden in the strong sun, the way Dan’s long fingers hesitate for a tiny second before they wrap around Max’s knee. There’s a slowness to his movements that Max can’t quite read, and he rewinds the video clip to watch it again, chewing at his bottom lip. It’s strange watching it back from an outside perspective. He feels the warmth of Dan’s hand on him again. After he’s watched it three times, he chucks his phone to the other end of the bed in frustration. He’s too hot, clothes suddenly sticking to him with sweat, skin feeling a size too small. He prods irritably at the air conditioning control unit. Stupid thing must be on the blink.

 

*

 

Saint Tropez is messy. There's a whole group of them, a couple of the other drivers joining them as well as various peoples’ friends. Max’s rental flat, to his delight, comes kitted out with smoke machines and disco lights.

They're on a yacht, drinking beers, topless. Sometimes Max’s life feels like some kind of crazy, wonderful dream. He stretches out on a sun lounger blissfully, the hot sun making his skin prickle. Stoffel is next to him, trying to pick some music for the Bluetooth speakers someone has brought along. He keeps grinning at Max, sharing in his simple delight at the lives they've found themselves living.

“You know it's Dan’s birthday today,” Stoffel says to Max. “We should go out tonight. Make a night of it. My friend knows a good club.”

Max hums his agreement, pushing his sunglasses up his nose where they're slipping down his sweaty skin. He glances over at Dan, who's dressed only in swimming trunks, deep in conversation with Nelson and pointing into the harbour energetically. He really does have an unfairly good body, Max thinks. There are actual male models with them who pale in comparison. “Sure,” he says. “I'll let him know.”

Stoffel smiles at him. “It's nice that you guys get on so well. You look like you have fun.”

“Yeah,” Max says after a pause. “People keep saying that.”

Stoffel shrugs. “Well, you know, it's unusual. Most of us get on with our teammates but you guys seem like you're actually friends.”

“We are,” Max says.

“Well, then,” Stoffel says, and reaches over to turn up the music, some electronic beat Max doesn't recognise but wants to dance to. “Keep it up.”

 

*

 

He doesn't drink enough to blot out the entire night, but it's a close-run thing. He remembers being in a club, the synthetic sweet taste of vodka Red Bulls that Dan had insisted on them drinking to stay on-brand. He remembers dancing, covered in sweat, part of a seething mass of bodies jumping in time to the pounding techno played loud enough to make the walls shake.

He remembers Dan drinking a shot of something green and noxious-looking, then wrapping his arms around Max’s neck, whooping, his skin slick with sweat beneath Max’s hands. He remembers Nelson kissing some girl, cheering and clapping him on the back while they're still entwined and Nelson cursing at him, Dan’s laughter in his ear.

After the club closes, they end up back at Max’s flat, struggling through the drunken haze to set up the smoke machines, helpless with laughter. His memories from this part of the night are even more confused, disconnected flashes through the strobe lighting. He remembers talking to Stoffel very intensely for a long time, although he can't remember what they talk about. He remembers walking - well, staggering - into the bathroom only to find someone crouched in front of the toilet bowl, vomiting copiously.

Then there's a gap he can't account for at all. He finds himself on the balcony with Dan, both of them drinking glasses of water although he doesn't remember who suggested they lay off the alcohol.

Dan is stretched out on the cool concrete floor alongside the black Perspex railing, his back propped against a large planter housing a bedraggled-looking plant and multiple beer cans. Max is sprawled on a large beanbag next to him, his legs stretched out over Dan’s thighs with his feet pressed against the balcony. Dan has his eyes closed, his hair sweat-damp and even wilder than usual. His hands are running absently over Max’s bare legs, sweeping up the ticklish soft skin of his inner knee and down over his calves, circling around the bones of his ankles until he reaches the hem of his trainer socks and making their way back up again.

Max is drunk enough not to care about appearing professional, making no effort to hide his reaction to Dan’s touch. He tips his head back to rest against the cool brick wall, letting his eyes fall shut, breath easing out in shuddery gasps. He’s too drunk to get properly hard, not turned on in any meaningful way, but his entire body feels sensitised, skin prickling in the wake of Dan’s petting. Dan has been rambling in an unfocused sort of way about the season so far, Max content to pretty much ignore him in favour of concentrating on the feel of his hands, and it takes him a moment to realise that Dan has fallen silent.

He opens his eyes, struggling to lift his head to check that Dan hasn't passed out or something. Instead, he finds Dan watching him, one hand still massaging the soft skin on the inside of his ankle.

Max blinks at him. He feels like he’s moving in slow motion, the alcohol in his veins labouring his reactions. “I'm really drunk,” he says to Dan. Dan smiles back at him. His eyes are heavy and dazed.

“Me too,” he says. His accent gets stronger when he’s drunk. It makes Max smile, the corners of his lips twitching.

“Did you have a nice birthday?” Max says.

“Mm,” Dan replies, closing his eyes again, sounding as if he hadn't really listened to the question. He seems happy enough. Max realises that the roaring in his ears is due to his own dizziness and not the nearby harbour as he'd originally assumed. He exhales slowly through his nose, willing away the nausea.

“I think about you, you know,” Dan says suddenly. His voice is slurred and faint, as though he’s on the edge of sleep. “All the time.”

Max shifts his weight onto his elbows so he can look at Dan’s face, but he’s staring dreamily at the strip of sky visible over the balcony. It's late enough that it's nearly early, dawn starting to creep in at the edges of the horizon. The reflection from the disco lights inside the flat play over Dan’s face, lighting his features in alternate primary colours.

“What?” Max says, his alcohol-fogged brain struggling to follow Dan’s sudden change of conversational tack.

Dan looks over at him. “Just about you,” he says. His right hand begins moving again on Max’s leg, fingertips trailing up the sensitive skin in the arch of his knee and up his thigh. He runs his fingers along the coarse hem of Max’s board shorts, and Max shudders. “About what it would be like. What you'd look like.”

Max swallows, shifting his weight, letting his legs fall open slightly, an invitation if Dan wants to take it. “About what would be like?”

He knows what Dan is talking about, of course he does, but he wants to hear him say it. Dan smiles to himself, attention focused on the way his fingers move over Max’s skin. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and he pushes his fingers beneath the fabric of Max’s shorts, creeping up to the softer skin of his inner thigh. Max moans quietly, can't help it, goosebumps breaking out across the sensitive flesh. “I think about you,” Dan says again, slower this time, like a mantra. “Being with you. What you’d look like. Sound like.”

Max is shaking now, lips parted, lust curling in his stomach alongside the nausea. He can’t remember ever feeling this turned on from a simple touch before. Dan's fingers creep higher. “Me too,” Max says. His voice doesn't sound like his own. Dan makes a soft noise, flattening his palm so his large hand is wrapped around Max’s inner thigh, and Max has to take a breath before he speaks again. “I think about you, too.”

Dan presses his fingers into the softness of Max’s flesh, making him gasp. “I want to see you,” he says. His voice is gravelly, hoarse in a way that has nothing to do with the drink.

Max nods mutely, and Dan breathes in deeply, opens his mouth to say something else, but he's interrupted by a crash from inside the flat, glass smashing and shouts of laughter. Max jumps, adrenaline spiking through him, and Dan withdraws his hand, resting it in his own lap with his fingers curled in tightly, his expression closing over.

The door to the balcony bangs open and Nelson pokes his head out.He has some kind of neon face paint smeared over his cheek, and sways unsteadily on his feet as he peers out at them. “I hope you weren't planning on getting the security deposit back on this rental,” he slurs, and Max sighs heavily.

Nelson keeps staring down at him, and eventually it filters through to Max that he's meant to go inside and deal with this somehow. Reluctantly he swings his legs off Dan’s lap and stands up gingerly, the horizon tilting and swaying. Behind him, he hears Dan struggling to his feet.

“I think that's my cue to go to bed,” Dan says. “Birthday boys are exempt from cleaning up broken coffee tables.”

Max groans, rubbing his hands over his face to try to sober himself up enough to deal with whatever mess is awaiting him. Dan touches his shoulder lightly as he passes, and Max is too drunk, too confused to react, can only watch as Dan slips out of the front door, waving goodbye over his shoulder.

 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss, some filth, and chia pudding used in a moderately sexy context, for which I can only apologise.

They race supercars with caravans attached for Aston Martin at the Red Bull Ring, crying with laughter. Dan is wearing a leather jacket and shades, looking every inch the glamorous young millionaire as he slides behind the wheel of his Aston. Max feels his stomach twist, trying not to stare. Every time he's in the same room as Dan he feels like he's going insane. Admittedly, Dan looks less cool when he's careening around the track with bits of caravan flying off in his wake, hysterical. Max’s stomach and cheeks hurt with laughter by the time Helmut waves the chequered flag.

Dan slaps him on the back when they're done, both still breaking into giggles every few seconds. Close up, Max can smell the expensive leather of his jacket.

“Oh, man. That was awesome,” Dan says. His arm bumps against Max as he stretches the kinks out of his back. His t-shirt rides up and Max looks away from the strip of exposed skin along his waistband. He thinks about kissing his way down Dan’s toned stomach, shakes his head to dispel the mental images. “I can't believe we get paid to do this shit. We're so lucky.”

“Yeah,” Max says. “We are.”

Dan smiles at him in an unfocused sort of way, his hand brushing against Max’s knuckles. Max twitches. Is he doing it on purpose? He glances at Dan’s face but finds it inscrutable.

They sit together drinking cups of bad coffee while they wait for the crew to wrap things up, chatting about nothing much: football, race strategy, what they're watching on Netflix. It's normal, unglamorous, their usual lives spent waiting around in hospitality units for something interesting to happen, and Max finally feels himself relaxing around Dan. He can almost kid himself that everything that happened in Saint Tropez was a dream, a fantasy borne of too much to drink and teenage sexual frustration. He’s just not sure that he wants to.

They're dismissed eventually, the camera guys and the director staying behind to get some establishing shots of the track with a drone. Max shrugs his hoodie on before the director has even finished speaking, already bored of sitting around. As always, driving has spiked his adrenaline levels, made him restless, and he wants to hit the gym to try and work off some pent-up energy. They make their way down the warren of echoing corridors inside the hospitality unit at the Red Bull Ring. Dan is humming something under his breath, too quiet for Max to pick up the tune.

“See you tomorrow, I guess,” Max says as they near the main entrance.

Dan glances around. The reception desk is empty, nobody about except them. He hovers on the spot for a moment then pulls Max into a one-armed hug, his hand pressed to the back of Max’s neck, fingers rubbing over the soft stubble there where his hair is shortest. It makes Max shiver, and he buries his face in Dan’s neck, inhaling the heady scent of his skin. His hand goes to Dan’s waist, slipping beneath the soft leather of his jacket and touching the cotton of his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his body seep through.

“See ya,” Dan says, squeezing the scruff of Max’s neck, and then he's gone, leaving Max standing like an idiot, staring after him.

 

*

 

Later that night, Max finds himself putting the chain on the door of his hotel suite, drawing the curtains and rooting in his bag as if in a trance. He hasn't quite got the self-control to stop bringing it with him, but he's started packing the dildo and bottle of lube in a black leather wash bag, hidden at the bottom of his luggage so that even if someone else decides to start dragging stuff out - not that he knows anyone else with such a cheerful disregard for personal boundaries as Dan - it won't be obvious what it contains.

He unzips the wash bag with fingers that tremble slightly with anticipation, tipping the contents out onto the bed and shucking off his shorts and briefs. His cock is already half-hard against his stomach. He squeezes out some lube and strokes himself slowly, feeling his erection swell in his fist.

He wipes up some of the lube with his other hand, lying with his legs spread and pressing his fingers further back between them. Usually he would be watching porn while he does this, his headphones in to avoid any sound leaking through the walls, but he doesn't feel like it today, closes his eyes instead to better concentrate on the sensations as he slowly pushes one finger inside himself.

He gasps quietly at the feeling, not quite pleasure, not quite pain, forcing himself to relax around the intrusion. The lube is cool on his fingers and slick enough that he quickly works his way up to two fingers, thrusting them in and out, the angle awkward. He crooks his fingers, hips shifting, searching for that spot inside himself that makes his toes curl.

The sensation of Dan’s hand on him comes to mind, those long fingers, the heat of his palm. Max makes a quiet noise through his teeth, trying to clear his mind, but it doesn't work. He thinks instead of Dan fully-clothed, the way the soft black jacket had contrasted with the honey colour of his skin. He feels the phantom weight of Dan’s hand on his thigh and shudders, cock jerking in his grasp. He thinks about Dan’s long, slim fingers, imagines that they are inside him instead of his own, but the angle is all wrong and he groans in frustration, wanting more. Breathing fast, he slides his fingers free and squeezes out more lube, coating the smooth tapered tip of the dildo and pressing it to his entrance with shaking, slippery hands.

He knows he shouldn't be thinking about Dan while he does this, but he doesn't think he can be blamed for it. _I think about you,_ Dan had told him, _what you'd look like, sound like._ His cock throbs against his stomach at the memory of Dan’s drunken confession, the unmasked lust in his voice beneath the alcoholic slur. He imagines Dan lying in bed in a suite the same as his, waking up hard and gasping, stuffing his hand down his pants, jerking off hard and fast while he fantasises about Max.

Max groans softly, pushing the curved tip of the dildo inside himself and exhaling slowly, waiting for the burn to ease and his body to adjust. He rolls his hips, slowing his breathing, letting his awareness sink into the bodily sensations, his conscious mind falling away. He brings one knee up, shifts his weight slightly so he can grasp the base and push it fully inside himself, a breathy moan escaping his parted lips.

He knows it's stupid, risky, liable to fuck everything up, but he can't help but think about Dan as he fucks himself with the toy. About what his dick might look like, whether it would be long and thin like Max’s own or shorter, thicker, curved or straight. What it would feel like to hold it in his clasped fist or in his mouth or inside him, fucking him, stretching him out.

He moans again, rocking his hips, pushing the toy in and out of himself faster and faster and imagining it’s Dan inside him, Dan gasping his name, Dan coming inside him, fingers leaving bruises on his hips.

Max squeezes his cock, his nerves on fire, sweat coating his body despite the cool of the air conditioning. He thinks of Dan’s toned body on top of his, his tongue in his mouth, the noises he might make when he comes.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, trying to stay quiet. “Fuck, Dan.”

That does it, the taboo of speaking his teammate’s name out loud enough to make his stomach clench and his orgasm flood through him, leaving him shaking and gasping for breath.

He stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, chest heaving, before sitting up and grabbing some tissues from the box on the bedside table to attempt to clean his sticky hands. Now that the high of his orgasm has receded slightly, he feels a gnawing sense of unease. He sighs and wads up the tissues, chucking them at the wastepaper bin beneath the desk. He's not going to think about Dan like that again, he resolves. He's only going to drive himself insane.

 

 

*

 

It gets significantly harder to stop thinking about Dan in a dirty way, because Dan won't stop _touching_ him.

In an attempt to keep himself sane, Max begins to keep count. In the space of a week, Dan hugs him four times, places a hand in the small of his back six times, pats his knee twice and rubs his nipple once. About half of them - including the nipple rub - have been on camera. It's exhausting, trying to keep his reactions calm, to just laugh and brush Dan’s hand away and try to write it all off in his head as their usual laddish banter. It means nothing. They've always been grabby.

It's not that he doesn't like it. The opposite, in fact. But he's not sure he's reacting properly, feeling like his nerves are written all over his face, fighting to stop the full-body shudders every time Dan’s hand presses against his flesh through the thin fabric of his shirt. It takes all of his self control - not something he's ever been blessed with a huge amount of in the first place - not to sink into the touch, turn his body in the fulcrum of Dan’s arms and press against him.

He gets revenge of a sort at Silverstone when Dan shoves a microphone in his face during the outside broadcast for Sky Sports and he turns his head and opens his mouth as if to suck it without even thinking, his mind elsewhere, just enjoying the lewd joke. His first thought is whether it's suitable for British TV, although neither Martin or Simon bat an eyelash, and it's only by chance that he glances up, still laughing, and catches the flicker of heat cross Dan’s face before he closes his mouth.

Serves him right, Max thinks, trying to peel the cling wrap from his baguette one-handed and ignoring the flutter in the pit of his stomach.

Martin looks at his sandwich, asks if they're interrupting dinner. Max has his mouth full of ham and cheese and just shrugs and laughs.

“I'm kinda hungry too,” Dan says, and his eyes meet Max’s for the briefest of seconds, an insinuation Max isn't sure whether he's imagining. To cover the shiver that runs down his spine, he offers the baguette up to Dan’s mouth. Dan pulls a face and shakes his head. Max fingers itch with the need to touch him.

After the interview is finished, they have an hour before they're needed anywhere else, the engineers shooing them out of the garage so they can do something with front wing balance that they don't want the drivers getting under their feet for. They're sharing a drivers’ room this weekend, a cramped little room that smells of damp. Max curls up on one corner of the drab sofa, shifting his weight to try to get comfortable. He really wants a packet of crisps. Dan is perched on a stool next to him, jiggling his legs compulsively. He's eating some kind of chia pudding thing, the virtuous bastard, and looking miserable about it.

“That looks fucking gross,” Max says, pointing to Dan’s spoonful of what looks like frogspawn.

Dan shrugs. “Gotta work for this physique, bro. Trust me, you'll learn. One day when you're old like me you won't be able to live on burgers and mac and cheese any more either.”

“You're not _that_ old,” Max says consolingly, to piss him off, and Dan flicks a blob of disgusting chia goo at him, hitting him square in the cheek.

Max yelps, scrubbing at his face and scrambling over the arm of the sofa to try to wipe it on Dan. “You fucker! Oh, my god,” he says, flailing at Dan and managing to smear it on his arm. “That is so gross. How can you eat that? It feels like cold jizz. Ugh.”

Dan chokes on laughter, grabbing Max’s arm to stop him wiping any more pudding over his hoodie. Max tugs him back, taking advantage of Dan’s precarious position on the stool to pull him over the arm of the sofa, fully intending to get him in a headlock. Dan yelps as he's dragged completely off-balance, the cup of pudding sliding from his grasp on to the floor as he throws his hand out to stop himself headbutting Max.

They end up nose-to-nose, Max sprawled back against the lumpy sofa cushions with Dan lying half on top of him and half draped over the arm of the couch. One of Dan’s hands is braced just above Max’s left ear; he can hear the quiet tick of Dan’s watch.

Dan regards him solemnly from about six inches away, blinking slowly. He has really long eyelashes, Max notices, dark and thick.

“Hi,” Dan says, straight-faced, and then his face splits into a grin. He hesitates, his eyes locking with Max’s for a split second, and Max knows what he's going to do before he does it, letting it happen.

It's just a light touch of Dan’s mouth against his at first, and all Max can think about is the smell of Dan so close to him. The scent of his cologne and the ever-present tang of petrol and rubber they all carry with them, and something underneath, vaguely musky, that Max knows instinctively is simply Dan’s skin. He makes a soft noise, half a gasp, half a giggle, and leans into the kiss, tilting his head to give it more intent.

Dan is smiling against him, because of course he is. Max lifts a hand to cup his cheek, feeling the curve of the muscle where his dimples show beneath his stubble. He parts his lips, letting his tongue touch Dan’s bottom lip, and Dan moans, his hand travelling from the couch to tangle in the hair at the crown of Max’s head instead. Max fists a hand in Dan’s shirt and pulls, and Dan goes with him, shifting his weight so he's balanced less across the arm of the couch and more or less straddling Max’s lap.

It's different to kissing a girl. For a start, Dan’s beard is scratchy, sending little sparks across the sensitive skin on his chin. He smells like a boy, too, spicy sweat where Max is used to girls and their sweet perfumes and flavoured lipgloss. But it's not just that; his whole style is different, more aggressive, a playful fight for dominance just like everything else they do. Dan tastes sweet and creamy, coconut yoghurt, and Max chases the taste, sucking at Dan’s tongue and making him groan. There's no finesse to the kiss, teeth bumping in their haste to get closer, Dan’s tongue fucking into his mouth. The pads of Dan’s fingers rub tiny circles on to Max’s scalp, making him shiver. He's still clutching Dan’s wrist in one hand, and he unclenches his fist, slides his hand down Dan’s wrist until he gets the hint and laces their fingers together, sticky with chia pudding.

By the time they pull back he's trembling with the intensity, breath coming in shallow gasps, his lips feeling swollen and hot where the irritation from Dan’s stubble has begun to rub them raw. Their hands are still clasped tightly. Dan blinks down at him, eyes slumberous, looking about as dazed as Max feels.

“Fuck,” Max mumbles, because he hasn't got the presence of mind to say anything else just yet. Dan smiles at him, face soft, and Max feels a peculiar rushing in his chest, fingers tightening in Dan’s involuntarily. He smiles back, hoping he doesn't look as drunk as he feels. Dan looks at him for a moment, his expression almost agonisingly open, and Max fights the urge to look away. His cock throbs beneath Dan’s right thigh braced across his lap, and he realises he's been rocking his hips up into the pressure and blushes.

“Fuck,” Dan agrees, dipping his head to press another kiss to the corner of Max’s mouth, chaste and sweet, before he pulls back, straightening his clothing and looking with dismay at the drying streaks of chia mixture coating his arm. He reaches down to adjust himself in what he obviously hopes is a discreet way, although Max can clearly see the outline of his erection through his cargo shorts and it makes his face heat even more, head reeling. Dan gives him a crooked smile, the suggestion of a secret, and Max laughs, wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand, trying to sort himself out.

Dan manages to compose himself a lot faster than Max does, running his fingers through his curls before he opens the door and sticks his head through, waving over one of the catering girls and asking for kitchen roll. “I had a lunch malfunction,” he explains with that charming grin, and the girl rolls her eyes but she's smiling too, fetching cleaning spray and wipes. Max excuses himself while they're all occupied and slips off to the bathroom, standing in front of the toilet bowl and jerking off as quickly and quietly as he can. It only takes him a few minutes to come, and he splashes his face after, still feeling turned on and jittery despite the physical release. The skin around his mouth is red and slightly chapped, stinging to the touch, and Max rubs at it with his fingertips, remembering the maddening prickle of Dan’s stubble and wanting more. Eventually he realises he's making it look worse and forces himself to stop touching, rubbing some Chapstick around the worse areas in an attempt to calm the inflamed skin down.

When he leaves the drivers’ room, Dan is deep in conversation with Christian. Victoria waves him over to the balcony. Dan looks up as Max passes by and smiles, the skin around his eyes creasing. Max grins back, ducking his head to hide the happiness bubbling up inside him.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody help me, this fic has taken over my life.
> 
> If anyone’s following the race calendar in this fic, you might have already guessed what comes next - it’s Hungary, which means things are gonna get angstyyy. Sorry. Blame Max.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Budapest throws a spanner in the works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this will be the only angsty chapter! D:

Hungary fucks everything up, big style. Or rather, Max fucks it up. There's no way he can pretend this isn't his fault.

He's fine while he's in the car, the adrenaline and focus of racing steadying him, keeping him calm. It's only when the car is in parc fermé and he sees the grim faces of the team that a knot forms in his stomach and stays there.

“Where’s Dan?” he asks Christian as soon as he's off the weighbridge, peeling his overalls down around his waist. Christian is wearing his stern-but-paternal look, which Max thinks can't be a good sign.

“In his room,” Christian says, guarded. “But I don't think he'll want to speak to you yet. Maybe it's best if you do your press first. Give him some time to cool down.”

Max shakes his head, struggling with the straw of his electrolyte drink. “I'll go to the press pen in a minute, OK? I just need to talk to him first.”

Christian sighs heavily. “Five minutes,” he tells Max. “Just…don't make it worse than it already is, alright?”

Max nods and forces himself to walk, not run, through to the hospitality unit. The pit crew he passes on the way studiously avoid him, all suddenly becoming very busy with disassembling the cars or hunching over their laptop screens intently. There's a wall of outright hostility coming from Dan’s side of the garage, the car up on jacks with Red Bull barriers pulled across to screen the worst of the damage. He can't really blame them.

He has a sudden attack of nerves on his way to Dan’s room, the reactions of the pit crew and Christian’s reluctance to let him go to Dan freaking him out. He makes a detour to the bar and grabs a beer from the mini fridge. He knows it’s pretty weak as peace offerings go but it's all he can think of in the moment.

He has to steel himself before he knocks on the door of Dan’s room. It takes Dan a while to answer the door, and Max is about to turn and go, assuming he's being ignored, when the door opens. Dan’s headphones are around his neck, tinny music still blaring from them. He looks tired and pissed off, and his expression tightens further when he sees Max standing in the doorway. For one horrible moment, Max thinks Dan is going to punch him. Fury is written clear across his face, in the tense set of his limbs. He takes a nervous half-step back, but Dan just stands there, staring at him, jaw clenched.

When it becomes clear Dan isn't going to say anything or invite him in, Max clears his throat and holds out the beer. “I thought, um. I thought you might want this,” he says.

Dan stares at the beer and then back up to Max, his upper lip curled back in an incredulous sneer. He still doesn't say anything, and Max wants the ground to open and swallow him up.

Dan reaches out and takes the beer from him, staring at it like he's not quite sure what it is. “Gee,” he says, and his voice is colder than Max has ever heard it before. “Thanks.”

Max fights the urge to turn and run, or to start trying to justify himself. He doesn't think of himself as someone who’s especially in touch with his emotions, but he doesn't have to be to see that he needs to handle this one carefully if he doesn't want to fuck up more than just one race.

He swallows hard and tries again, picking his words more carefully this time. “They're making me do press now. I just wanted to see you and say sorry before I talk to the media. We’ll talk later, OK?”

The tightness in Dan’s jaw relaxes slightly at that, and Max breathes out, hoping he's said the right thing. “I'll be as quick as I can,” he says, pressing his advantage while he still has it. “Will you still be here when I’m done?”

“I guess so,” Dan says, and Max can't bear the lack of warmth in his voice. “I got my press duties out of the way earlier, you see, when you were still on-track.”

Max flinches at that, just nods because he can't think of anything else to say. He hovers in the doorway for a second longer, peering into Dan’s face, trying to read in his expression any hint of forgiveness, but there's nothing.

“See you in a bit,” he says eventually, his voice sounding very small to his own ears, and Dan just nods, shuts the door in his face.

 

*

 

The interviews don't make him feel any better. They tell him about Dan’s radio messages, reading them out word-for-word - minus the profanity - and ask him if he'd noticed Dan’s middle finger held aloft on his second lap past the stricken car. He repeats the same answer over and over, explaining that it wasn't deliberate, that he locked up, that he wants to make things right with Dan. By the time he's done, he feels sick. Any residual high from being in the car has well and truly worn off now, leaving only a shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach. Just to top it off, Hamilton gives him a poisonous look as he makes his way out of the press pen. He cuts his eyes away, ignoring the cameras and fans waving pit lane passes and Sharpies at him.

Christian is deep in conversation with Dietrich when he gets back to the garage, and shakes his head warningly when Max approaches. Max can't escape the feeling of being a kid again, trying to avoid warring parents, conversations he's not invited to.

“Is Dan still in there?” he asks one of Dan’s pit crew, gesturing to the door of his room.

“I think he's back in his motorhome,” the mechanic says, not quite looking him in the eye, focusing on stacking tyre blankets. Max thanks him and bids a hasty retreat before anyone else can glare at him.

He knocks on the door of Dan’s motorhome with a hand that shakes slightly,praying Dan is calmer, praying he says the right things. He's never worried too much about the consequences of his driving before: if he hits someone, he hits them. He's always seen it as a necessary risk to take in pursuit of winning, because the winning was the only thing that mattered. Ruthless, maybe, but he’s there to get podiums, not make friends. Only now things are different.

The door swings open, and Dan stands on the top step, looking down at him impassively. Max gives him a weak smile, hopeful, but Dan just turns and walks back into the living space without bothering to see if Max is following. There's music playing softly from the speakers connected to Dan’s phone, something with guitars and a mournful voice singing words Max can't quite make out. It's not the kind of music he really gets usually, but he thinks he understands why Dan is listening to it now: it reminds him of wide open spaces, bleak and endless skies.

By the time Max has shut the door and climbed the steps, Dan is slumped on the sofa, facing the switched-off television. Max wonders how long he's been sat there like that, just staring into space. The bottle of beer Max had brought him is empty on the coffee table in front of him, another of a different brand beside it and a third, half-full, in a puddle of condensation next to Dan’s phone. He thinks it's a good sign that Dan had bothered to drink it at all.

Max hovers, unsure whether or not he should sit down, but Dan indicates the other armchair with a jerk of his head and Max sinks into it, twisting the sleeves of his overalls around his fingers while he tries to phrase his apology.

“So,” Dan prompts after a second, his face stony. He picks up his half-finished beer and takes a swig, tightly-coiled aggression in every movement. It's so unsettling to see him like this, the tension in his limbs. Anger has rewritten every curve of his body.

“I'm sorry,” Max says, staring at his lap. “I really am. I fucked up and I'm sorry.”

He chances a glance up at Dan, who's staring at the label on his beer bottle, a muscle in his jaw working. He picks at a corner of the label with a bitten-down thumbnail. “Are you, though? Because what it looked like to me was you throwing a tantrum because you hadn't got your own way.”

Max bites his lip, fights the urge to rise to the taunting. This is a test, he tells himself. You are being tested. “That's not it. I thought I saw a gap to get past again when you overtook me, but I locked the tyres and skidded, and then I had nowhere else to go.”

Dan shakes his head and laughs mirthlessly. It's a cruel sound. “And I’m just collateral damage.”

“That's not what I mean,” Max says helplessly. “I thought - I don't know what I thought. OK? Is that what you want to hear? I don't know what I was thinking. I fucked up and I'm sorry and I won't let it happen again.”

Dan snorts. His hands are balled into fists in his lap. “Until next time you lose your head because you can't bear to be told no.”

Max squeezes his eyes shut and counts to three inside his head, willing himself to stay calm. The thought that Dan might not forgive him for this is pressing in on him from all sides, the worry that he's ruined their relationship irrevocably in the space of half a second. _It's just racing,_ he wants to say, _it's not enough to end our friendship._ But that would be a lie and he knows it. The racing is everything, even when it's not.

He moves to sit next to Dan, daring to reach out and touch his thigh. He feels the muscles jump under his touch. Dan stares at the floor, his face set. “You can take what you want from me,” he says. His voice is shaking and he hates himself for it. “If it'll help.”

He feels Dan’s thigh tense, and hears rather than sees him put the beer bottle down, keeping his gaze trained on his own lap. Suddenly Dan’s hand is at the back of his neck, insistent pressure, pushing him forward off the couch. Max goes with it, his limbs weak, allowing Dan to guide him to his knees and tilt him forward until he's braced across the coffee table. Dan moves to kneel behind him, grasping his hips in a vicelike grip. His fingers bite into the skin above Max’s hipbones through the fabric of his overalls.

“Like this?” he says, punctuating his words with a sharp tug to Max’s hips, pulling him off-balance. Max gasps a breath, knuckles white where he clutches the edge of the table. “Is that how you think you're going to fix this?”

Dan yanks him back roughly, pushing his hips against Max’s arse and holding him in place with a surprising amount of strength: Max’s knees are barely touching the floor, taking his weight through his forearms. Dan's not hard, or at least Max can't feel anything but the jut of his hipbones, but Max pushes back against him anyway, a whimper breaking from his throat. He doesn't think this is about sex anyway. It's an object lesson.

Dan leans over him, pressing the heel of one hand between Max’s shoulder blades, forcing his hips up to compensate. Max lets his head drop to the table, resting his forehead on the cool glass.

“You don't get to just take what you want,” Dan tells him. The pressure of his hand makes Max’s spine crack audibly, his body stiffening after the time spent in the car. He feels Dan ease the pressure in his hand slightly, allowing Max the space to flex his shoulders. It's this small mercy, shown to him when he doesn't deserve it, that makes Max want to cry, something he hasn't done in years. “That's not how life works.”

He lifts his head as Dan thrusts against him again, catching sight of himself in the reflection of the dark TV screen. He stares at the image of himself, supplicant, Dan’s torso and slim hips behind him. He's grateful that he can't see Dan’s face. Dan holds him there, grinding his hips into Max’s arse so hard that Max thinks it must be painful for him, and then pushes him away, steps back. Max collapses forward on weak arms, head bowed, shivering. He hears Dan sit down on the couch again.

“Get up,” Dan says. The anger is gone from his voice. He just sounds tired.

Max stays where he is for a minute, just breathing, before he has the strength to push himself to his feet and back to the armchair. His face burns with humiliation, but he knows he deserves nothing less.

He stares at his lap, out of words. Dan sighs heavily. “Do you seriously think that would help anything? Is that really how you want this to happen?”

Max shrugs. He feels his age for once, completely out of his depth, messing around with emotions he's pretty sure he's too young to fully understand. “No,” he admits, and Dan sighs again, drains the rest of his beer and puts the bottle down with a clink. He lets his head fall back onto the back of the sofa, staring up at the spotlights in the ceiling.

“I'm sorry,” Max says again, his eyes on the long lines of Dan’s throat. Dan has closed his eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Max pushes away the part of him that wants to bite and suck the expanse of skin.

He waits for a long moment, silent, watching Dan. Eventually, Dan opens his eyes, lifts his head to look at Max. It's not much, but Dan’s expression has softened into something more familiar, the taut fury mostly gone. It’s enough, and Max allows himself to relax slightly at last.

 

*

 

They manage to get through the debrief without another argument, and Christian is clearly relieved that they're civil with each other.

“It's good to see that you’ve managed to talk it through by yourselves in a mature way,” he says at the end of the meeting, and Max stares at the desk, his cheeks colouring. “It's never ideal when we have to end a race weekend like this, especially not at this track of all of them, but I hope it's been a learning opportunity for you if nothing else, Max.”

He looks up. Dan is watching him from the other side of the table. He looks exhausted, the sleeves of his hoodie tugged down over his hands, making him look younger than his years. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight has made its way through the slatted blinds behind them. It cuts across Dan’s face, highlighting the gold tones in his dark eyes. He's staring at the wall somewhere behind Max’s head, but at Christian’s words he blinks and refocuses his gaze, watching Max carefully. Another test.

Max licks his dry lips. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I apologised to Dan when we spoke on our own earlier, and I'd like to say sorry to him again now. And to the rest of the team and you guys,” he adds, glancing around the table. It feels good to apologise in a strange way, a weight lifted off him. He thinks again of Dan’s hands at his hips, the careful restraint he'd shown amidst his fury.

Christian nods, approval in his gaze, and shuts his leather binder in a way that signifies that they're dismissed. “Good,” he says decisively. “Let’s go into the summer break on as positive a note as we can, and we’ll regroup in a few weeks, see where we’re at.”

The rest of the team personnel file out, but Max stays where he is, and so does Dan. Christian nods at him again on his way out, clearly pleased, and Max gives him a weak smile in return.

“Are we OK?” Max asks once they're gone. He hates how needy he sounds, not used to seeking someone else's approval like this, but he can't help it.

Dan's shoulders slump. “I'm still mad at you,” he says slowly. “But it's summer break now. Let's just take some time, yeah?”

“Are you still going home?” Max says. He can't remember the last time they'd been away from each other for more than a few days; the winter off-season, he supposes. The thought of four weeks without seeing Dan makes him feel miserable all over again.

Dan nods, pushing out his chair and standing up. “Yeah. I'm flying back to Monaco this evening and then on to Perth tomorrow.”

Max stands up too, wiping his damp palms on his thighs, turning back to Dan when he reaches the door. “Well,” he says awkwardly after a pause. “Have fun.”

Dan rocks back and forth on his toes, his gaze flickering across Max’s face. He still looks troubled, a vulnerability in his expression that makes Max’s gut twist. Before he can think better of it, Max darts forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Dan’s tense mouth. Dan’s hand travels to his waist, a gentle pressure, lingering when Max pulls back.

“Will you do me a favour?” Dan asks, bringing one hand up to touch his mouth lightly as if he's not sure whether he'd imagined the kiss or not. Max nods. “Can you just like, not text me or whatever while we're away?” He laughs and scrubs his hands through his curls nervously. “I don't know. I kind of just need to forget you exist for a bit. Sort my head out.”

Max blinks, trying not to let his hurt show on his face. Dan is probably right. “No, yeah, that's… Sure,” he says. “That's fine. Have a good time.”

Dan smiles at him, tinged with sadness. “Yeah, you too. Go eat some schnitzel.”

Max laughs slightly. “Right.” He opens the door, looks back at Dan, but Dan already has his phone out and isn't paying attention. Max sighs and trudges back to his own motorhome to pack, Dan’s words ringing in his ears.

 

*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reconciliation. There's sex in this bit! \o/

Daniel greets him with a hug when they get to Spa, and Max lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Dan smells good, some kind of expensive cologne, and they stare at each other for a split second before Dan wraps his arms around Max’s shoulders.

“You have a tan,” he says when they pull back, because his brain is temporarily staging a go-slow at Dan’s sudden proximity after so long spent away from him. Dan laughs, raising his eyebrows. There's still something slightly cautious between them It reminds Max of when he'd first started at Red Bull, that chaotic season where none of them had known what was going on from one race to the next, the wariness Dan had around him at first. “I thought it was winter in Australia.”

“It is,” Dan says gently, as if to a small child, “but I've been at training camp in LA for the past two weeks and it's definitely not winter there.”

Well. That explains why Dan looks so good, skin tanned honey-gold, his muscles even more defined than usual beneath his t-shirt. He seems relaxed, singing under his breath as they file into the boardroom for the briefing, tapping out a beat with his thumb on the rim of his can of Red Bull. Max can't stop looking at him, tiny glances like sips of forbidden wine out of the corner of his eye as they take their seats and wait for Christian and Adrian to sort out their papers and begin.

Dan leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head, yawning. He's wearing a black t-shirt with his own logo on it, which Max would mock him for if it wasn't for the fact that he's more focussed on not staring at Dan’s arms. His skin is a perfect even bronze beneath the fine hairs, muscles shifting every time he moves. Somehow, he's become more attractive in the four weeks they've spent away from each other. Max can't stop looking.

In some ways he thinks the time away from each other was just what they needed. It had been strange at first not to see him nearly every day, and a couple of times he'd found himself wanting to make some joke only Daniel would understand or ask him a question none of his other friends would be able to answer. But Dan had asked him to stay away and so he did, busying himself with seeing friends he's known for years, taking an actual holiday that involved no press commitments whatsoever, and then spending the last ten days of his break undoing all the damage to his training plan the holiday had caused. He thought about Dan often, but without pain, the guilt dissipating after the first few days. He'd also dreamed about Dan pretty regularly, once even waking up with his boxers soaked in cum, something he thought he'd grown out of, unable to shake the phantasm of Dan’s body against his.

At the head of the table, Adrian is talking in his usual poetic fashion about the changes they've made to the rear diffusers, leafing dreamily through a stack of papers nearly as tall as his coffee cup. He looks like he's going to be talking for some time. Max quietly puts his head on the desk; he's pretty sure Adrian won't notice. Across the desk, he hears Dan’s stifled laughter.

He half-listens to Adrian, picking up one sentence out of every five for reference. Adrian’s hushed tones are soothing: he's moved on to rear wing adjustments and brake balance, and Max attention drifts. After about five minutes he starts to worry he's going to fall asleep and lifts his head again, pillowing his chin on his forearms. He fidgets, tries to crane his head enough to look at the clock on the wall behind Adrian’s head, but Christian gives him a warning glance and he sighs, facing front again. Mostly he loves his jobs but sometimes he feels like he's back in school.

Across the table, he sees Dan watching him, the corner of his lips twitching as he tries not to smile. Dan catches his eye and surreptitiously tilts his own wrist so the dial of his watch is visible to Max. Max grins at Dan, ducking his head so Christian can't see.

A couple of minutes later, Dan stretches out again, rolling his head on his shoulders as though he's stiff, shuffling his chair further under the table. Max feels something touch his ankle and jumps.Dan’s leg is pressed against his, the heat of his bare skin shocking in the air-conditioned cool of the office. Max flicks a glance up at Dan, who's staring at his Red Bull-branded notepad, his lips quirked in a secretive smile. Max breathes out slowly through his nose and presses his leg against Dan’s, a gentle nudge. Dan’s lips curl further at the corners as he jots down a note about downforce levels in response to something Adrian is pointing to on a print-out of a graph. Max hasn't written a thing on his own notepad.

Max waits a moment, then sits up, affecting a stretch similar to Dan’s that allows him to reposition his legs under the table, press his calf flush to Dan’s. He hears Dan inhale sharply and glances around to check whether anyone else has noticed, but they're all listening to Adrian and giving every appearance of concentrating.

With agonising slowness, Dan rubs his leg against Max’s. The hair on his calf is prickly and Dan’s skin is warm and slightly sweaty, and it shouldn't be sexy but it somehow _is._ It's the forbidden aspect, he thinks, touching each other right under the noses of the team. It makes him feel hot and flustered, shifting in his seat as stealthily as he can. His senses are heightened, feeling every twitch of Dan’s calf muscle against his, every squeak of his Vans against the tiled floor magnified.

Dan looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes, through the veil of his fringe, and catches Max’s gaze. His expression is a little bit coy, a little bit teasing, just enough for Max to get the gist of what he's thinking. Max bites his lip, a surge of lust spiking through him.

They keep their legs pressed together for the rest of the meeting. On the way out, taking advantage of the general hum of chatter and papers being shuffled, Max leans forward in his seat, pretending to scratch his ankle, and runs his knuckles across Dan’s thigh. Dan’s leg jerks hard enough that his knee hits the underside of the table, swearing under his breath, and Max pretends to drop his pen so he can bend down and cover his smirk.

 

*

 

There's a sense of anticipation fluttering in Max’s stomach on Saturday evening that has nothing to do with the upcoming race. He's had a good weekend so far: the car feels promising, he's spent some rare time with his family and friends, and a sea of orange flags waves at him from the stands wherever he looks. But for once, it's not the thought of getting back in the car that makes his stomach jump.

The atmosphere between him and Dan has changed subtly since the summer break. After everything that happened in Hungary and the time spent away from each other, Max had almost resigned himself to forgetting about the whole thing, writing it off as a weird couple of months borne of too much time spent in close proximity with his teammate. But after a few days spent in his presence once again, Max can't explain it away. They're orbiting closer and closer to one another, finding endless excuses to touch, their gazes meeting across crowded rooms. When Dan looks at him there's a naked desire in his expression that makes Max blush and stammer, even when they're in public. Neither of them have discussed it, but somehow he knows that things have reached a tipping point.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Dan asks him in the hospitality unit that afternoon, casual. He's still in his race suit, overalls peeled down around his waist, and Max is trying not to stare at his slim waist outlined by the snug fabric.

“Not really,” Max says, picking at a bowl of grapes. “I’m going for dinner with my mum and Victoria later and then I guess an early night.” He keeps his eyes on the fruit, trying to keep his voice even.

Dan nods thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the flat planes of his stomach. “Good plan.”

“What about you?” Max asks. The frustration of sidestepping the issue makes him jittery, tapping his feet to the same rhythm as Dan’s fingers.

“No plans,” Dan says neutrally. Max nods slowly, pushing away the rest of the grapes. Dan immediately intercepts the bowl and begins plucking the fruits off their stems methodically. Max watches his long fingers in silence, gathering his courage.

When they get up to leave, Max fishes in the pocket of his hoodie and finds the spare keycard for his hotel room, wrapped in its cardboard sleeve with the floor and room number written on it in biro by the concierge. He hesitates, then slides it across the table.

Dan looks at it for a moment as if he's not quite sure what to do with it, then wordlessly picks it up and slips it into his own pocket. He looks up at Max then and grins, dirty and full of promise, and Max can't stop the shiver that runs through him, feeling his cheeks heat.

 

*

 

Thankfully, Dan doesn't make him wait long. He gets back from dinner with his family at just after eight, and has only just dressed after a shower, his hair still damp, before there's a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” Max calls, and there's a click as the door unlocks, and then Dan slips inside. He's wearing a vest top and a cap pulled down low over his eyes, and Max can't stop staring at his shoulders, the contrast of the built-up muscles there with his slim hips. He feels light-headed, giddy, hardly daring to believe that this is finally going to happen.

“Hi,” Dan says softly, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. He looks like he's about to start giggling, and it's a relief to Max, knowing that Dan is feeling as awkward as he is. He's carrying his usual bottle of water and fiddling with the cap.

“Hi,” Max says, and takes a deep breath, walks across the room to Dan, stopping when they're toe-to-toe. Dan leans down, stops when he realises he's about to hit Max in the face with the brim of his peaked cap. He laughs and pulls the hat off, letting it drop to the floor along with his water bottle. He rubs his fingers through his curls, fluffing them back up where they've been flattened by his cap, and Max steps closer, insinuating himself into Dan’s personal space, unable to keep his distance any longer.

Dan’s grin widens and he brings his hands to the curve of Max’s waist, just a light pressure, keeping him in place. He's close enough that Max can feel the heat of his body beneath their clothes. Dan ducks down, finally brushes their lips together, barely touching, and Max can't help the soft, shuddery gasp he makes against Dan’s lips.

Dan chuckles softly against him, turning his head slightly so their cheeks are pressed together and he can speak into Max’s ear. “I kinda missed you while we were away, you know,” he says, barely audible. “Even though I wanted to punch your lights out too.”

Max laughs, shaky. Dan's presence so close to him feels like a drug. He turns his head, chasing Dan’s mouth, contenting himself for the time being with nuzzling the stubbled skin of Dan’s jaw. “I missed you too,” he admits. “I dreamed about you.”

Dan groans at that, a quiet noise in the back of his throat, his hands tightening on Max’s waist. “Like a sex dream?” he asks, and Max nods, remembers Dan’s own confession on his couch back in Monaco. Dan takes in a shuddery breath, drawing Max’s body towards his, fitting their hips together.

Max ducks his head, finding Dan’s mouth at last, kissing him hard. Dan sighs into the kiss, hands moving to the small of Max’s back, playing with the hem of his t-shirt and making him shiver.

Dan tastes sweet and minty, like he's just brushed his teeth, and his mouth is cold and wet from the water he's been drinking. Max sucks at his tongue, tangling his fingers through the curls at the back of his head. Dan pulls away after a minute, biting softly at Max’s bottom lip. “Let’s go lie down,” he says, and Max just nods, happy for Dan to steer him to the bed.

They lie there for a bit, just kissing, touching, mapping out each other’s bodies through their clothes. Max is pretty sure this is the longest he's ever spent on foreplay, already growing frustrated, impatient to get to the main event. He breaks away from Dan, sitting up so he can pull his t-shirt over his head, Dan following suit. He can't help but run his hands over the planes of Dan’s chest and stomach, entranced at the feeling of smooth skin over taut musculature. He knows his own body is well-built - God knows he spends long enough in the gym - but there's a definition to Dan’s body, an angular maturity missing from his own teenage build that drives him crazy.

“You're so hot,” he says helplessly, running the pads of his thumbs over Dan’s nipples, feeling the soft hairs scattered across the skin there. Dan laughs at that, a breathless sharp sound, taking Max’s right hand in his own and pressing it between his legs so Max can feel the hardness and heat there.

“See what you do to me,” Dan says, pushing his hips against Max’s hand, and Max groans, twisting his wrist to try to get at the right angle to touch him properly. His whole body is hot, fingertips tingling as though he's on a high-altitude circuit, and his dick is so hard it's almost painful, trussed beneath layers of cotton and denim.

He rubs at Dan through his shorts, drinking in the noises he makes. Dan looks like something out of his filthiest dreams, eyes closed, his head pressed back against the pillows, biting at his bottom lip to try to restrain his moans. A thin sheen of sweat covers his torso, the taut muscles in his stomach jumping every time he rolls his hips into Max’s touch. His erection pulls the fabric of his shorts tight across his groin. Max pulls himself to a sitting position so he can free up both hands to undo the buttons at Dan’s waist, the denim stiff beneath his uncooperative fingers.

Dan lifts his hips to help Max shuck the shorts out of the way, kicking them off the end of the bed along with his boxers, and then he's naked, and Max sort of feels like he's going to pass out. He's staring, can't help himself. He's spent so much time imagining Dan’s body but nothing can prepare him for the reality of it there in front of him, the heady freedom of being allowed to touch as he pleases.

Dan reaches for him, kissing him deeply. He rolls Max onto his back, pulling down his jeans without ceremony, laughing when Max gets them stuck around one ankle and leaning down to help him detangle himself.

Max pulls Dan down on top of him as soon as he's naked, partly because he wants to feel Dan’s bare skin against his and partly because he's unexpectedly shy, feeling his cheeks heat. This is the first time he's ever been naked with another guy and it's thrilling, but it threatens to overwhelm him. Dan runs one hand down his thigh, encouraging him to lift his leg and wrap it around Dan’s hip so he can push their hips together. Max feels out of his depth, inexperienced, burying his head in the crook of Dan’s neck and shoulder. He can feel Dan’s cheek curve in a smile against his temple.

“You good?” Dan says softly, running his hands down Max’s back in long movements that somehow manage to simultaneously relax him and make him more turned on.

“Mm,” Max mumbles, not quite able to put his feelings into words. He feels Dan laugh against him, and then he's jostled lightly as Dan leans back, propping himself on one elbow to lean over Max’s prone body. He's not sure how Dan is managing to be so relaxed about this given that, as far as he knows, it's his first time with another man too, but he's relieved at least one of them seems to be coping with it. For once he's content to let Dan take the lead.

He puts one hand beneath Max’s mouth. “Spit,” he says.

“Ew,” Max says, but he does it and it's gross but somehow it's hot, too, and Dan grins, quirks an eyebrow and wraps a hand around his cock, jerking him off hard and fast and sudden.

“ _God,_ ” Max grits out, his entire body stiffening at the sudden surge of pleasure, hips lifting of their own accord. He grabs at Dan’s shoulder, holding on for dear life. Dan is watching him intently, his eyes dark.

“You look incredible like this,” Dan murmurs, his hand moving faster, hot and slick and the perfect amount of pressure, and Max just moans, pulling Dan down to kiss him. He moves his free hand back between Dan’s legs, palming at his cock clumsily, rewarded by Dan breaking the kiss and swearing against his mouth. Max laughs breathlessly, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Dan’s cock, making him groan and roll his hips. They move against each other, snatching kisses, hands moving between each other's legs with little finesse. The noise of their harsh breathing sounds overwhelming, broken only by the gentle hum of the air conditioning. It's not even the physical act that's driving him insane: Dan’s hand is moving at a strange rhythm, unused to the angle, not the way Max is used to getting himself off. It's just the fact that it's Dan, naked in his bed, Dan’s hand urging him toward his orgasm, Dan’s eyes on him.

Maybe it's the thrill of finally getting Dan naked, or maybe it's the infuriatingly good things Dan is doing with his hand, but all too soon Max is clutching at Dan’s upper arm, feeling the delicious sweet heat building in his stomach, spiralling ever higher. Dan pulls away from him, his hand tightening around Max’s leaking cock, watching Max’s face intently as he gasps and comes over Dan’s hand. Max shakes through it, gasping for breath, coated in sweat. He screws up his eyes, can't deal with being watched so closely, but he can feel Dan’s intense gaze on him anyway as he strokes Max through it until he's whining and over-sensitised.

“Fuck, I could come just looking at you,” Dan mutters, brushing kisses across Max’s jaw. Max tilts his head to kiss him properly, still trembling with aftershocks, trying to gather the presence of mind to return the favour.

Dan groans into his mouth as Max wraps his fingers around his erection properly. The tip of his penis nudges against Max’s bare hip, leaving a wet trail over Max’s skin. Max tightens his grip, rubbing his thumb over the thin skin beneath the head. He kisses Dan open-mouthed, spit-wet, biting at the swell of Dan’s bottom lip to hear the desperate sounds he makes.

Dan wraps his hand around Max’s, a tight hot pressure around his cock. He breaks the kiss just before he comes, pressing their foreheads together and gasping once. His hips jerk against Max, his semen coating Max’s hand and wrist in hot thick strands. Max strokes him through it, loving the quiet noises he makes, the way he shakes. He thinks he could stay here forever, listening to Dan struggling to get his breathing under control, the spicy smell of their sweat and sex mingling in the air, Dan’s come cooling on his hand.

Dan exhales, eyes blinking open. He looks dazed, eyes heavy and lidded as though he's just woken up. He clears his throat slightly, stirring and disentangling his sticky limbs from Max’s.

“I can't believe we didn't do that sooner,” he says, shaking his head in bewilderment, and Max rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling with a smile so wide it hurts his cheeks.

 

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I can't thank you all enough for the wonderful comments you've been leaving on this. You're all lovely.
> 
> This is the second-to-last chapter because, much as I've enjoyed it, I literally haven't done anything else in the last week except write 20,000+ words of smut, and I should probably stop at some point soon before I turn into an actual hermit. (Also I'm gonna be spending the latter half of this week glued to Monaco, so...)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they discover that sex is great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it! At risk of making this sound like an acceptance speech, thank you all _so_ much for the wonderful comments and kudos you’ve all left on this. It’s made me happier than I can tell you. I’m kinda sad this is over, I’ve had so much fun writing these two.
> 
> This final chapter is basically just 7,000 words of porn. Enjoy!

He thinks maybe it should be weird, but somehow, it’s not. They fall into a routine with surprising ease, and it just feels _right._

Actually, not a huge amount has changed between them. Their lives are still as busy, as crazy and as wonderful as ever, and they don’t get to spend as much time just lying in bed together as they would like, but Max thinks that’s a small sacrifice to make.

They go for a meal with friends in Monza, trying to forget a race that’s not worth remembering anyway, relying on the tranquillising effects of pasta and red wine so expensive that Max thinks he might be a bit too young to fully appreciate it. They’re careful in public, although Max suspects it’s a sign of how close they were before they started sleeping together that nobody around them seems to have noticed any change in their relationship.

Max gets up to pee, only wobbling slightly despite the several worryingly large glasses of wine he's consumed, and feels Dan brush the back of his hand over his bare thigh as he squeezes past. Max glances down at him, and Dan quirks an eyebrow and beckons him. Max leans down, his ear close to Dan’s mouth.

“Reckon we could get away with a handjob in the loos?” Dan murmurs. “Because if not, we might have to leave soon. I don't think I can keep my hands off you for much longer.” His breath is warm and ticklish on the shell of Max’s ear, but it’s not that that makes him shiver. He puts a hand on Dan’s shoulder as if to steady himself, grateful for the raucous conversation in the rest of the restaurant that drowns out theirs.

“I don’t think so,” Max says, although he’s imagining it now, of course he is, and he thinks that might have been Dan’s intention all along, to get him all worked up somewhere they’ve got no chance of doing anything about it. He has a sadistic streak about getting Max keyed up in public. “I don't think I could stay quiet.”

He moves the tip of his index finger beneath the neckline of Dan’s shirt, tracing over the skin there with his fingernail, gratified by the slight flutter of Dan’s eyelashes, the only visible sign he gives of being anything other than slightly drunk.

“Shame,” Dan murmurs, a smirk playing about his lips. “Maybe I could cover your mouth.”

Reluctantly, Max straightens before the conversation gets any more inappropriate and squeezes past Dan, who deliberately stiffens his shoulder to let it rub against Max’s ass as he edges past. He does it constantly now, endlessly finding excuses for their bodies to touch in public, keeping Max in a near-constant state of frustration so that, when they finally manage to snatch some time alone in their drivers’ room or, if they’re lucky, a hotel room, it takes barely any time at all for Max to come. Dan seems to take Max’s endurance - the advantage of his relative youth meaning he can come multiple times in one night - as some kind of challenge, and delights in seeing how quickly he can reduce Max to a gasping, shuddering mess only to be ready to go again five minutes later.

They share a seven-seater taxi back to the hotel after they’re finished, none of them in any condition to drive, and Max climbs in after Dan, enjoying the view of his arse as he steps into the raised cabin of the minivan. It’s a tight enough fit that they can sit with their bodies pressed against each other without provoking comment, their thighs touching. Max keeps his head bent over his phone, enjoying the solid feel of Dan’s body against his, just enough to keep him simmering.

To his relief, the lift in the hotel lobby is empty, and Max draws Dan to him the moment the doors are closed, tilting his head up, asking to be kissed. Dan slips his arms around Max’s waist so he can squeeze his arse, pulling their bodies flush against each other. Max is half-hard already, and when he rolls his hips he can feel Dan is the same, his tight jeans not leaving much to the imagination. They don’t kiss properly, not yet, knowing they won’t want to stop when the lift reaches their floor. Instead, Dan touches his mouth to Max’s and withdraws repeatedly, the lightest brushes of their lips, and Max already feels like he’s going crazy, can’t stop himself from leaning in to chase Dan’s mouth when he retreats.

Dan laughs, already throaty and turned on. “God,” he says softly, punctuating it with another squeeze to Max’s arse that makes him whine pathetically and stepping back with perfect timing as their lift reaches their floor.

Max crowds him as he struggles with the keycard, can’t stop himself from plastering his body along Dan’s back, praying nobody comes around the corner. They practically fall into the bedroom once Dan manages to get the door open, and Dan spins them with practiced ease, pushing Max up against the door as soon as it’s closed and kissing him deeply. His hands cup Max’s face, thumbs smoothing the lines of Max’s jaw and making him sigh into the kiss. He doesn’t know if he’s ever met anyone as tactile as Dan is, and while it’s not something he’s normally a fan of, he can’t deny that Dan’s constant petting makes him feel incredible, like a pampered cat.

He pushes Dan’s body back long enough to shrug off his team jacket, but can’t manage his t-shirt before Dan makes a disgruntled noise and presses against him again, rolling his hips into Max’s, their bodies tight and flush. Max groans softly and lets his head fall back against the door with a soft thud, allowing Dan to kiss the juncture of his head and neck, making him squirm.

“I wish I could leave marks,” Dan says against his skin, and Max moans at the thought, suddenly wants nothing more than for Dan to leave bite marks and bruises all over his skin. It’s too risky, his physio at the very least would be bound to notice and Max doesn’t want the hassle of trying to invent a cover story, but in the moment he’s sorely tempted. Dan bites down gently, his teeth barely grazing the skin over Max’s collarbone, and Max grunts, his hips jerking against Dan’s of their own accord.

“Remember how all this started?” Dan says, rocking his hips against Max’s. Max nods, slipping his hands under Dan’s shirt to feel his skin, damp with sweat. He should probably have guessed that Dan wouldn’t be able to shut up even when they’re having sex, but Dan doesn’t seem to mind that he’s rarely able to summon the presence of mind to reply to his dirty talk.

“I thought about you constantly,” Dan murmurs, biting at Max’s jaw. “I thought I was going crazy. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was you with that thing inside yourself, stretching you open.”

Max moans, his fingers tightening in the soft skin beneath Dan’s ribcage. He hasn’t used the dildo for a few weeks now, hasn’t wanted to, even though he and Dan haven’t fucked yet. He finds himself wanting to wait, knowing the feeling of inert plastic inside him will never live up to Dan’s body.

“I thought about you,” he manages to say, turning his head blindly to find Dan’s mouth. “While I did it.”

Dan groans deeply at that, already sounding wrecked. He fumbles between them to undo Max’s belt, sliding down his body until he’s on his knees, his hands at Max’s hips urging him to lift them away from the door so he can pull down his jeans and boxers.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Max says faintly, “if you do that.”

“You’re young,” Dan says easily. “You can go again.”

Max’s cock jerks just at his _words_ , already oozing precum from the tip, and Dan laps it up, deliberately holding Max’s eye contact. Max has to close his eyes after a second, his cock throbbing even before Dan gets his mouth around it properly, wondering if it’s possible to come just at the sight of Dan on his knees in front of him.

Dan sucks his first two fingers into his mouth, licking at the head of Max’s cock while his fingers probe behind Max’s balls, nudging at him, tentative. Max can’t stop the stream of soft noises that fall from his mouth, too turned on to care. Dan presses the tip of a finger inside him, moving achingly slowly, and Max gasps, spreads his legs a little wider within the confines of his jeans around his ankles to encourage him to go further.

Dan doesn’t suck him properly, just mouthing at him, driving him insane, while he pushes his middle finger with agonising slowness inside Max’s body.

“I want to fuck you,” Dan says, almost to himself, smiling slightly when Max’s cock jumps at his words, pausing to lap up the fluid oozing from the tip. “You’re so tight even around my finger. God. Imagine what it would be like to have my cock inside you.”

“Dan,” Max gasps out, can’t hold it any longer, his orgasm coming over him suddenly and intensely, catching them both off-guard. Dan doesn’t move out of the way in time, making a noise of surprise as Max’s cum hits his half-open mouth and chin. He moves far back enough that his eyes are out of range but stays where he is, jacking Max’s cock in a loose fist and moving his finger just enough to send a fresh wave of aftershocks through him.

Dan wipes his mouth with his fingers, sucking Max’s semen from them. “Ugh,” Max says, but he’s fascinated and Dan knows it, grinning up at him with dark eyes, making a show of licking his fingers clean until Max squirms, simultaneously disgusted and getting turned on again. He sucks at Dan’s tongue when they kiss, entranced at the taste of himself there.

Dan turns him around so he’s braced against the door, undoing his own jeans and pushing them down far enough for his cock to spring free. He palms Max’s arse, making him whine, and pushes his cock between his thighs, the damp heat there, resting his forehead in the curve of the back of Max’s neck.

Max groans, pushes back against him. He knows they can’t fuck here, doesn’t want their first time to be in an anonymous hotel room where they have to keep relatively quiet, but he wants it so badly he could scream. His cock is already getting hard again, the tip of Dan’s nudging against the sensitive area behind his balls and, occasionally, pressing against the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks, just enough to send him crazy.

He pillows his cheek against his arms, allowing him to push back against Dan’s hips. He’s coated in sweat, still mostly-dressed, and Dan’s hot breath dampens the back of his neck where he gasps against him. Dan braces one arm against the door, hips moving faster against Max’s, reaching around to jerk him off again.

“Yeah, like that,” Dan says, his grip on Max’s hip tightening, breath coming in desperate gasps. Max knows he’s close, grinds back against him harder, biting his lip to keep quiet with his mouth so close to the door.

Dan pulls back, one hand wrapping around the scruff of Max’s neck, holding him in place. His other hand leaves Max’s cock, making him whine at the sudden loss of contact. Max hears the telltale sounds of Dan stroking himself fast and wriggles to free one of his own hands, touching himself to the same rhythm.

Dan’s cum is hot when it splashes across his bare arse and the small of his back, and they both groan in unison, Max’s hand moving faster on his own dick until he spills again into his cupped hand, the muscles in his stomach clenching almost painfully.

Dan lets his forehead drop to Max’s shoulder, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. Max makes a disgruntled sound. “That's so gross,” he says, looking over his shoulder at the mess on his back, already starting to drip down his thighs. “If that gets on my shorts I'll kill you.”

“Give me a minute,” Dan says, breathless, laughing slightly. “I'll carry you to the shower.”

“Tissue is fine,” Max says, squirming until Dan lets him turn round with every intention of going to the bathroom until he gets distracted by Dan kissing him, slower now they're both sated, tongues sliding against one another.

Eventually, Dan takes pity on Max’s squeamish wriggling and goes to get some tissues.

“We could shower together,” Max says hopefully once he's cleaned up the worst.

“You're insatiable,” Dan tells him, but he doesn't sound like he minds.

 

*

 

They go back to Monaco after Singapore, both of them in subdued moods after the race. Max aches from his shunt, and the people around him have taken to avoiding mention of the race in case it triggers another rant about Vettel and unsafe driving. He knows he's being hypocritical, doesn't care.

He's antsy on the flight back, jet lag already creeping around the edges of his consciousness, and exhaustion quickly sours to irritation. The jet is blessedly mostly empty, just him and Dan and a couple of Red Bull personnel sitting at the back, talking amongst themselves about sponsorship details. He slumps back in his seat, headphones on, trying and failing to concentrate on some shitty action flick, when something cold hits him in the cheek.

He flinches and picks it up where it's fallen on his sleeve; it's a small chip of ice. Across the aisle, Dan is shaking droplets of soda from his fingers, grinning at him sheepishly when he sees Max glaring.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Max pushes his headphones off his ears, annoyed, wiping at his face with his sleeve.

“Sorry,” Dan says, not sounding it. “You looked sad.”

“And you thought throwing ice at my face was going to help that?”

“No,” Dan says, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding into the seat directly opposite Max’s, nudging at his calf with the toe of his shoe. “That was just to get your attention.”

Max scowls. Dan ignores him, leaning forward in his seat so he can whisper, glancing up to check the other passengers are either asleep or distracted with their own conversations.

“I think I have a way to cheer you up,” he says. “You’re free tonight, right?”

Max nods and Dan nudges Max’s shin again, grinning slyly. “So can I come over? You know what we said we'd do when we got back to our own places.”

Max takes a breath. His brain is suddenly wiped of all stresses over his season, over the crash, over his dwindling points total. Instead it’s replaced with mental images that are frankly pornographic. In all the stress and frenetic of the Asian races, he’d almost forgotten that going back to Monaco would mean their own beds, privacy, time to spend on each other’s bodies. A couple of days ago Dan had cornered him in the motor home, whispering into his ear _the minute we get back to Monaco I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll come without me touching you._

He licks his dry lips. He feels hot, suddenly squirmy in the confines of his seat. “Sure,” he says, holding Dan’s gaze. A slow smile spreads over Dan’s face, and he looks Max up and down appreciatively before he stands up again and retreats to his own seat, busying himself with detangling the wires of his headphones.

Max puts his own back on, shifting in his seat, his clothes suddenly feeling too tight. He knows he hasn’t got a hope of following the plot of the film he’s watching now, but leaves it on anyway, content to let his thoughts drift. He falls asleep soon, a light doze broken by fantasies of Dan that get increasingly erotic until he’s woken by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

_Can’t stop thinking about it_ , the text reads. Max looks up; Dan still has his headphones on, head bent low over his phone, but Max can see the curve of his dimple where he’s smiling.

_Me neither_ , Max sends back. _This is the longest flight in history._

Dan snorts softly with laughter, glancing up at Max. _Soon!_ he sends back, followed by the aubergine and peach emojis, and Max cracks up but can’t stop the shiver that runs through him.

 

*

 

Now that they’re actually in his flat, Max feels suddenly shy again, which is ridiculous given that they’ve spent pretty much every spare moment alone either naked or well on the way to being so during the past few weeks. They’ve dumped their bags in the hallway, and now Dan is leaning against the bookshelves in his lounge, fiddling with a mini helmet, making the visor go up and down with one finger. Max hovers in the doorway.

“Do you want a drink or anything?” Max says awkwardly, twisting the folds of his hoodie between his fingers.

Dan looks up and laughs. “No, I’m good,” he says, and then narrows his gaze, scrutinising Max more closely. “Are you?”

Max nods, hopping from one socked foot to the other. He wants to be in bed, now. He's not a patient person at the best of times, and he thinks they've spent enough time awkwardly dancing around the subject in the last few months to have to carry on now. “I think we should fuck now,” he says, and Dan’s hand stills on the helmet.

“Well, when you put it like that,” he says, swallowing. “Yeah, me too.”

Max crosses the space between them and Dan meets him halfway, wrapping his arms around Max’s waist and drawing him close in a bruising kiss. His hands go to the small of Max’s back, twisting handfuls of his hoodie.

“Bedroom,” Dan says decisively after a few minutes, reluctantly pulling back. He runs his fingertips around the waistband of Max’s jeans, hooking his fingers into his belt loops and tugging his hips forward gently.

“End of the corridor,” Max says, already out of breath, wiping his mouth with his hand. His lips are tingling from the feel of Dan’s stubble.

They strip out of their clothes without preamble in the doorway of Max’s room, too far gone and too tired to take it slowly. The blinds are closed but filter the soft Monegasque light through, and Dan’s body looks incredible silhouetted in the haze, the golden light picking out the planes of his muscles and the warm tones of his skin. Max can’t believe how lucky he is. He wants Dan to take him apart.

He pushes at Dan’s shoulder until he sits down on the bed, pulling Max down on top of him and kissing him deeply, his hands going to Max’s arse immediately and squeezing. He rolls them so Max is on his back, encouraging him to scoot further up the bed until he’s lying with his head propped on the pillows, legs spread. He feels wanton like this, Dan holding his body above him, bending down to rake his teeth lightly over his collarbone to hear Max’s stifled gasp.

Dan shifts so he’s kneeling between Max’s legs, running the fingertips of one hand down the inside of Max’s thigh while he sucks the first two fingers of his other hand. The muscles in his thigh jump under Dan’s light touch, and he can’t hold in the agonised whimper when Dan dips his head with little warning, licking a hot wet stripe up the shaft of his cock.

He lets his head fall back onto the pillows, his hands fisting in the bedsheets as Dan mouths at him. His spit-wet fingers move first over his balls and then further behind, stroking the sensitive skin there and then circling his entrance, just rubbing the muscle, a tease. Max shifts his hips restlessly, his self-control already hanging by a thread.

“Come on,” he says, and his voice sounds two octaves lower than usual, rough. Dan huffs out a laugh, sending a gust of air across the tip of Max’s cock that makes him groan, and pushes the tip of his middle finger into Max’s arse, keeping it there. Max grunts, flexing his thighs, forcing himself to relax. Dan makes tiny movements with his finger, sucking at the tip of Max’s cock, getting him worked up but not quite giving him enough. He lifts one hand blindly to tangle in Dan’s hair, not quite pushing him down, just encouraging him, and feels rather than hears Dan laugh again, the vibration of it running through him. Dan opens his mouth and takes him in properly then, pushing his finger in to the second knuckle simultaneously, and Max cries out, can’t stop his hips from lifting from the bed, doesn't care if Dan chokes.

Dan sucks him hard, his tongue rubbing over the vein on the underside of his shaft, finger moving fast inside him. What he lacks in finesse he makes up for in enthusiasm, and Max is so riled up that he doesn’t care about the occasional light graze of Dan’s teeth, the lack of rhythm in the movement of his finger.

When Dan pushes another finger inside him, Max’s orgasm rushes over him without warning. He tugs at Dan’s curls, but Dan stays where he is, letting Max come into his mouth, still fingering him through it. Max’s toes curl at the feeling, pleasure making him loose-limbed, gasping when he feels Dan gag around him, his throat constricting. Dan slides his fingers free from Max’s arse, making him whine, and disappears to the en-suite, coughing. Max hears him spitting into the sink and can’t stop himself breaking into giggles.

“Sorry,” he calls through, weak with laughter and the afterglow of his orgasm.

“It’s fine,” Dan replies, still coughing, running the tap. “I don’t think I’m as good at that yet as I think I am.”

“You were plenty good,” Max says, grateful that Dan can’t see his cheeks colouring. “That’s why I came so fast.”

He hears Dan laugh. “Well, I guess it’s a compliment,” he says. “So, um. Do you have lube and stuff? I feel like we need that.”

Max shivers a little. “Yeah. Black washbag in the cabinet by the sink.”

Dan brings it through, already opening the zip and sifting through its contents, picking out a strip of condoms and the half-empty bottle of lube. He grins broadly when he sees the black dildo inside, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead, sitting down on the bed next to Max and running an absent hand down his thigh. He takes it out and waves it at Max.

“Hey,” he says. “Our old friend.”

Max snorts. “Don’t call it that.”

Dan turns it over in his hands idly. “My dick is bigger than this,” he says conversationally, and Max feels his own cock twitch against his thigh. Dan’s right: he’s longer and thicker and his cock has a slight curve that Max suspects is going to feel amazing inside him. “I’m gonna stretch you out, huh?”

Max groans, throwing one arm over his face. “Stop talking and just do it, Dan,” he says, too far gone for all this teasing. He hears Dan laugh and the bed dips as he moves closer. Max keeps his arm pressed over his eyes, breathing deeply as he hears the snap of the lube bottle opening. He can hardly believe that this is finally going to happen. He's been thinking about it for so long.

Dan’s fingers are chilly when they press between his legs, the lube slick, and Max gasps, shrinking away involuntarily.

“What's up?” Dan asks, alarmed, and Max laughs, finally uncovering his eyes.

“Cold,” he says, and Dan swears softly, withdrawing his fingers and rubbing the lube between his fingers and thumb to warm it up. Max feels a sudden rush of affection for him, for the care he shows, the way he wants Max to feel as good as possible.

“OK,” Dan says, tapping at the inside of Max’s knee to encourage him to spread his legs wider. “Let’s try that again.” He stretches up to kiss Max, fingers pressing between his legs again and circling his hole lightly, tentative. Max sighs against his mouth, rocking his hips, encouraging Dan to be more committed with his movements.

Dan obliges, pushing his finger inside in one smooth movement, right up to the knuckle, and Max groans deeply, arching his back. He's relaxed enough from his earlier orgasm that his body provides little resistance, his nerve endings sensitive enough that even one finger feels good.

Dan bites down gently on his bottom lip, tugging the soft flesh between his teeth, and Max moans softly, running his fingertips over Dan’s chest and shoulders, flicking the hardened nubs of his nipples with his thumbs to hear Dan’s quiet intake of breath, the way his finger falters in its slow rhythm.

“More,” Max says, an exhalation rather than a word, and Dan smiles into the kiss, obligingly pressing another finger inside him. Max shifts his weight, spreading his legs further, bending his knees, encouraging him. Dan picks up on it, starts to move his hand faster between Max’s legs, curling his fingers and fucking them into Max with more intent, the toned muscles of his arm shifting with each movement.

“Yeah,” Max says, breathing deep, arching his back through it. Dan shifts his weight, sitting up so he can watch Max’s reactions. Max looks up at him through heavy eyes. Dan’s expression is one of intense concentration, biting at his lip as he moves his fingers inside Max’s body, cataloguing his reactions. He reaches out with his other hand, running the tips of his fingers over Max’s half-hard cock, encouraging it to stiffen further. Max makes quiet sounds deep in his throat, rolling his hips to meet Dan’s hands.

“You want more?” Dan murmurs, and Max nods, gasping when Dan twists his wrist to push a third finger inside him. The stretch is more intense now, the muscles burning as he fights to relax against the intrusion. His breath comes out in soft moans as Dan twists his fingers, fucking him in long, slow strokes.

Max arches his back, tipping his head back into the pillows. The sensation is familiar to him from his own experimentation, but it's so much better. Dan is able to get deeper, crook his fingers to make sure he hits all the spots that make Max’s toes curl as pleasure shoots through him. His cock is already leaking against his stomach again, a little damp pool forming by his navel.

“That's enough,” he says, blinking sweat from his eyes. Dan looks up from where he's been focusing on the movements of his hand between Max’s legs, locking eyes with him.

“You sure?” Dan says. His voice is low and throaty, and when Max meets his gaze he deliberately speeds up the movement of his hand, fucking his fingers into Max’s pliant body hard and fast, making him cry out.

“Please,” Max gasps out. His dick is throbbing again already, and all he wants is for Dan to fuck him, finally. Dan nods, removing his fingers from Max with infinite care and exhaling hard, grinning down at Max.

“OK,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

“Enough with the pep talk,” Max groans, shifting restlessly in the messy sheets. Dan just laughs, focused on the challenge of unwrapping a condom with lube-slick hands.

Max props himself up on his elbows to watch Dan as he rolls the condom on and pours more lube into his hand, watching the way his eyes close briefly as he wraps a hand around his erection. He looks incredible, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and dazed with lust, his lips swollen and red where Max’s teeth have sunk into the soft flesh. Max feels fizzy with anticipation, can't believe he's going to finally get what he's been fantasising about for so long.

“OK,” Dan says quietly, and he sounds a little nervous now, shifting to position himself so he's kneeling up between Max’s spread legs. “Let me know if I hurt you, yeah?”

“Bit full of yourself,” Max says. “It's not _that_ big.”

Dan splutters with laughter and leans down to kiss Max, the tension leaving his face. He sucks lightly at Max’s bottom lip before he pulls back, and Max makes a high-pitched sound of desperation that he thinks Dan would definitely take the piss out of him for if he wasn't so far gone himself by now.

Dan shuffles on the bed, running one hand down Max’s inner thigh, and Max bites his lip as he feels the blunt tip of Dan’s cock pressing against him. Dan looks up, locking eyes with Max as he presses forward. Max holds his gaze, blinking rapidly as Dan stretches him out, breathing through the slight pain.

He has to close his eyes when Dan sinks fully into him, sensory overload threatening to overwhelm him. For all his practice with the toy, he'd thought he'd be prepared for the feeling of Dan inside him, but it's like comparing the simulator to the reality of being in the car at 200km an hour: the mechanics are the same, but that's where the similarities end. Dan is hot and thick inside him, thighs sticking damply against Max’s, breathing harshly above him. The heat is pouring off him, the smell of sex and sweat heavy in the room.

Dan’s chin has dropped to his chest, his fingers tight on Max’s hips as he struggles to keep his self-control. “Christ,” he says hoarsely, and Max shivers at how wrecked he sounds, the strain of not moving evident in his voice. “Christ, you feel so good.”

Max rolls his hips, encouraging Dan to move, and Dan groans, a bitten-off sound, at even that small movement. “Can I move?” he says. His voice is shaking,palms wet with sweat where they rest on Max’s hips.

“Yeah,” Max breathes, bracing his feet against the mattress to give himself something to push back against.

Dan blows out a breath through pursed lips, calming himself, before he starts to thrust, achingly slow at first, until Max is whining beneath him, held on the edge. Max digs his fingers into the flesh of Dan’s upper arm, as much in frustration as to urge him on, gratified when Dan seems to get the picture and increases the pace.

Max arches as Dan fucks him properly at last, gripping Dan’s arms, the skin slick with sweat beneath his grasp. He can feel the muscles in Dan’s biceps trembling as he holds his body over Max’s, their chests barely grazing. Dan hooks his hands beneath Max’s thighs, urging him to wrap his legs around Dan’s waist, bringing their bodies impossibly closer together.

“Touch yourself,” Dan gasps out, and Max complies immediately, wrapping his hand around his leaking erection and jerking himself off hard and fast. The spike of pleasure makes him gasp and his muscles clench involuntarily as he shudders, and Dan groans too, his hips faltering momentarily before he finds his rhythm again.

He brings one hand up to cup Max’s face, rubbing his thumb over the line of his jaw in a gesture oddly tender compared to the brutal pace of his hips. Max uses his spare hand to urge Dan down with a hand to the back of his neck. They can't quite kiss properly without Dan changing his angle, but he presses their foreheads together and Max licks at his mouth, tasting the sweat that coats his skin. He laughs without knowing why, and Dan squeezes his cheek briefly, a fond gesture, blinking sweat from his eyelashes to keep his eye contact with Max.

“I wanna see you come,” Dan whispers, pushing his thumb into Max’s mouth, pressing the pad against the edge of his teeth. Max groans, his hand moving faster over his cock, suckling the saltiness of sweat and precum that lingers on Dan’s hand. He can feel it building, the sensation of Dan inside him becoming more and more overwhelming until he's shaking all over with it, breath burning in his lungs. He gasps as he comes, biting down on Dan’s thumb to stifle a cry, and Dan curses loudly as Max spasms around him.

Max writhes on the bed, his orgasm seeming to last forever, digging his heels into Dan’s back to keep him close. Dan fucks him through it, not relenting in his pace, and Max arches, keening, fresh pleasure jolting through him every time Dan moves inside him.

“Max,” Dan says, barely forming the word, just breathing it over the skin of his jaw as Max bucks and trembles beneath him. “Max, you feel -” but he doesn't finish the sentence, breaking off into an incoherent sound and thrusting into him to the hilt one more time. His fingers dig into the tense muscles of Max’s thighs as he comes, his hips jerking even though he's pressed so close to Max that his hipbones dig in. Max pulls him close, running his hands over the sweat-soaked skin of Dan’s back and shoulders, feeling the way the muscles ripple under his touch as Dan shakes through his orgasm.

Max is shocked by the sudden swell of emotion like a punch to the gut as he strokes his hands through Dan’s damp curls, Dan barely managing to keep himself from collapsing onto Max’s body below him. He nuzzles at Dan’s temple, feeling the slight tremors that still run through him occasionally. Eventually Dan lets out a long breath, dissolving into a giggle as he slowly lowers himself to the bed, pulling Max with him so they're curled around each other rather than Dan lying right on top of him.

“Fucking hell, Max,” he says, running a lazy hand down Max’s flank before he pushes at his thigh, encouraging him to move so he can withdraw from Max’s body as gently as possible. Max grunts at the sensation, flinging one arm over his face and rolling onto his back again while Dan takes care of the condom, before flopping back down next to him and tugging the duvet out from beneath Max’s legs.

Max lifts his arm to peer out from underneath it, smiling up at Dan. He feels completely fucked out, limbs so heavy he can barely move. He knows he should shower, coated as he is in a mixture of sweat, lube and his own semen, but the thought of getting up is impossible. Dan looks similarly exhausted, his limbs loose and pliant, eyes heavy.

“That was incredible,” Dan says. He still sounds a little bit shellshocked. “Like, top five life experiences.”

“So good,” Max agrees, stretching. The ache in his muscles feels good now. Then he frowns. “Wait, only top five? That was at _least_ top three. Come on.”

Dan tuts and smiles, reaching over to brush Max’s hair back from his forehead where it's stuck to the skin with sweat. “Fine,” he allows. “Top three.”

Dan's fingers are at his jaw, urging him to turn his head. Dan kisses him slowly, open-mouthed and messy, and then runs his thumb along the seam of Max’s closed eyes, and that gentle touch is the last thing he remembers before he falls into a deeper sleep than he's had in months.

 

*

 

He wakes up earlier than he'd wanted to the next morning, jet lag overriding his exhaustion, and it's a minute before he realises he's in his own bed, not a hotel room or a motor home. It's another few seconds before he becomes aware of Dan’s presence next to him. It's the first time Dan has been able to stay in his bed after they've been together, the first time they've not had to think about being seen emerging from the same bedroom in the morning. It's a small luxury but he revels in it.

He rolls over to look at his teammate, trying not to make a noise. Dan is lying on his back, one arm lifted over his head, showing the black curls in his armpit. The blanket is pushed down around his waist, and the white of the cotton, almost blue in the morning light filtering through the blinds, makes his tan stand out even more. Max is content to simply lie and watch him. He's never thought of himself as a romantic, the kind of guy who'd do mushy stuff like watching his lover sleep, but he doesn't care, Dan looks beautiful. Sleep has smoothed the lines of his face and he looks younger, peaceful, his chest rising and falling deeply. Max can't resist, reaches out and trails the very tips of his fingers down the curve of his throat, smoothing the stubble.

Dan stirs lightly, swallowing, bringing one hand up to cover Max’s and tangling their fingers together. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he struggles to wake.

“Morning,” Max says softly, clearing his throat when it comes out hoarse. Dan smiles, licking over his dry lips and rolling on to his side, finally opening his eyes.

“Hi,” he mumbles, blinking sleepily at Max, nuzzling the hand now trapped beneath his cheek. Max leans in to kiss him, delighting in the warm sleepiness radiating from Dan’s body. Dan is so often loud and boisterous and has trouble staying still for longer than a few minutes. Max has seen him asleep before plenty of times, but to see him like this, unguarded and still, feels special.

Dan licks into his mouth, sighing into the kiss. “You have morning breath,” he says when they break apart.

“So do you,” Max says, not caring.

“You smell gross,” Dan nudges at him. “Go shower.”

Max groans, burying himself further into the pillows. “We were having a moment there. Don't spoil it.”

Dan laughs, the sound catching in his sleep-roughened throat, but carries on pushing at him. “Seriously. You're covered in so many different bodily fluids.”

“Such a romantic,” Max grumbles, but Dan is right, he feels disgusting, and much as he'd like to stay in bed all day, a shower does sound pretty good.

 

*

 

When he emerges from the bathroom half an hour later, feeling like a new person, Dan is cross-legged in a pool of messy sheets. He's already managed to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker on the cabinet opposite the bed, and he's humming along to the music. He looks up when Max comes in and waves something at him. Max sputters with laughter when he realises it's his dildo, evidently rescued from the floor where they'd dumped everything the previous evening (including, he suspects, the used condom, although he doesn't have the energy to think about that just yet).

“Just stay right there until I get my phone,” Max says. “If I get a photo of this, I've got blackmail material on you for life.”

“Don't you dare,” Dan says, but he's grinning. “Actually, I was thinking you won't have any use for this any more. Now you've got the real thing.” He raises his eyebrow, aiming for suave and failing, and Max snorts laughter, shakes his head.

“Yeah, I got an upgrade for sure,” he says, heading over to the chest of drawers to find a t-shirt. He ducks when Dan sends the dildo flying past his head, bouncing off the wall and expertly landing in the wastepaper bin.

“Back of the net!” Dan whoops, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“You're an idiot,” Max tells him, pulling the shirt over his head and leaning down to check his hair in the mirror propped on top of the drawers.

Dan blows him a kiss in the mirror’s reflection. “I'm the idiot you love.”

Max can't hide his smile. “Maybe,” he admits. “A little bit.”

Dan looks down at his lap, smiling to himself. “There's no point in you doing your hair, you know,” he says, stretching out on the bed.

“Why not?” Max asks, frowning.

“Because I'm gonna mess it up again when I come all over your face in ten minutes’ time,” Dan says cheerfully. “And I'm not letting you leave the bedroom for at least three days, so you might as well put that t-shirt back in the drawer too.”

“Fair enough,” Max says, giving up on his hair and crawling on to the bed, straddling Dan’s lap. Dan grins up at him, and Max finds he no longer cares about his stupid unreliable car or his contract negotiations or anything else. Right now he thinks he might be the luckiest man alive.

 

FIN

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [So cover your eyes, I have a surprise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422622) by [bonotje](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonotje/pseuds/bonotje)




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